


ouroboros

by captainfile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Death, Everybody Dies, F/M, Family Dynamics, Guilt, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Italian Character(s), Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Professor Harry Potter, Squibs, Time Travel, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfile/pseuds/captainfile
Summary: "i actually think you'd make a good history professor.""you absolutely don't, go away.""i'm paying you a compliment," Ale insists, setting a cup of tea down. "especially at this point, i mean, with all the centaurs and goblins running circles around us; you're better versed in their law and history now than they are.""whose fault is that?" Tom grumbles, but continues to stare at the letter from Severus Snape. current headmaster of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall's successor, though he'll be heading for retirement soon enough. Ale doesn't grace the conversation with a defense."plus, you'll no doubt make those kids fear for their lives, so they'll actually remember half of what you say."she laughs lightly when he looks up at her and his eyes flash, red-hot. "you're being too nice.""it's summer," she shrugs. "it's been a hundred years." his eyes fly to hers again, and she bites her lip. "and don't pretend like you didn't just bring me flowers this morning, Tom," she finally huffs and leaves the room. even from across the house, she hears him laugh.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> so this turned into a beast of like death, destruction, and more death, but i don't think it's that bad. might be really sad to read. definitely exciting and cool in my opinion, but the ending is, i'll warn y'all, not the summary. 
> 
> okay, enjoy!

suddenly, Ale is cold. the London humidity is pulled from her lungs and replaced with dust; it feels like side-along apparition and the Floo mixed into one and mistaken for the simplicity of a school spell. 

“oi, bird! shelter’s all the way over there, you’ll never make it!” 

a man stands in the middle of the street, surrounded by rubble. Ale stares at him, confused, as he looks to the sky and begs aloud that he’ll never see another bomb. he holds out his arms and closes his eyes, as if in prayer, and then Ale catches up to herself. explosions are sounding in the distance, and the sun is hidden by black smoke. she doesn’t honestly know how she got here, but now that she’s here, “l'inferno si è congelato.” she runs in the direction the man points, trunk in tow. as she does, Ale tries desperately to remember what got her so mixed up. it hits her when the ground shakes. 

“Alessa, quit saying that word,” her father admonished softly in Italian. her mother never understood how he did it, nor how he taught Ale, and often expressed that he wasn’t even speaking real Italian. “be kinder to yourself.” 

“i’m reclaiming it with dignity,” Ale argued. 

“is it okay if i call you a razzo then?” her younger brother laughed harshly. ever the one to misunderstand. Cornelius slammed on the breaks of the minivan and pulled over to unlock the car. 

“it’s not much farther now,” he told them, Cockney accent sharpening in rare anger. neither of Ale’s parents ever really got angry; her mom was just emphatic, and her dad was just disappointed sometimes. her brother argued that they were going to miss the Express, but received a flat “Giovanni” in response and got out of the car with a huff. “hold hands. and don’t forget your luggage.” 

Ale groaned and walked, sweating into Gio’s loose grip while he complained. when he let go, she reached out and found him tilting his head at a pocket watch left on the ground. “what’s that?” he asked, ever the Ravenclaw. Ale started to explain while picking it up because she might roll her eyes often, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. she was halfway through demonstrating how to open a pocket watch when she felt the destructive force of magic. 

now, magic is far from Ale’s mind, even as she carries textbooks and her wand. she makes the mistake of looking back and doesn’t see anything but dust rising from a collapsed building. it could be where she stood before, or it could be farther. either way, Ale keeps running. she wants to leave her belongings behind, but hears her father’s voice arguing against the thought. 

“in here!” Ale finally sees another person and realizes that she’s a lot closer to King’s Cross than she thought just as the young woman pulls her roughly into a building and down some stairs. 

“Merlin, you look like you’ve never been in a raid before,” the young woman scoffs. she seems at least college age, maybe older. “but you are going to Hogwarts, right?” 

“i am,” Ale nods quickly, “sixth year.” 

“and why are you dressed for a Spanish summer in the middle of an English winter?” 

“mum,” a boy barely a few years younger than Gio runs up and clings to the woman. 

“i’m dressed for Italia,” Ale explains, mind reeling while the color drains from the woman’s face. 

“i’m sorry, love, i had no idea,” she sighs. Ale rolls with it, because what else is she going to do? she wants to defend her home, but she resists. “i’m Beatrice Wilkes, and this is my son Thaddeus.” Thaddeus waves shyly. 

“Alessandra,” Ale introduces herself, and shakes Beatrice’s hand. the woman blinks, and then turns to her son in thought. 

“there’s a Floo upstairs that everyone’s using to get in, but you have to be quick.” 

“i’ve never done that before-“ Beatrice interrupts her. 

“the address is just the Hogwarts Express.” Ale knows that. Beatrice pushes her up the stairs and turns back to her son, so Ale is pretty much on her own again, except that there’s a pretty short line to the fireplace, so she rushes over to grip the last teenager’s hand when he Floos. 

she slips away before he can take note of any of her features, noticing his red uniform and shiny badge before anything else and deciding that she doesn’t want to deal with the brick walls that occupy the Gryffindor house. the platform is crowded as usual, or maybe even more so, and it isn’t hard to duck into a corner and pull on her robes. no one gives her a second glance. once in a compartment, Ale takes a shaky breath and catches up with herself. 

“what the hell?” she curses aloud in Italian, resting her head in her hands. where is Gio? what was the raid? what is a Wilkes doing, having kids and introducing herself to strangers? what did the pocket watch do? 

Ale pulls it out of her pocket to glare at the damned thing. it looks like a simple enough gold pocket watch, a bit old and dirty from having sat on the side of the road until Gio spotted it. it’s frozen around eight, maybe almost eight, but Ale doesn’t care too much to examine the wrong time. she reads the inscription on the inside. 

“Il Razzo Pagano,” she gasps, snaps the watch shut, and jumps when the door flings open. 

“feeling lazy today?” asks the teenager with a badge, thankfully a Hufflepuff this time. the scary thing is, Ale knows all her prefects, and has no clue who this guy is. before she can ask, he pulls out his wand and lifts Ale’s trunk onto the shelf above her head from where she left it in the middle of the compartment. he’s gone again, the door closed and the hall full of strangers, faster than Ale can thank him. or wonder why he used magic on the Express, seeing as it’s prohibited. 

Ale sighs and stares tiredly out the window as the Express begins to move. the platform empties before her eyes, unlike all the other times she’s ridden where first and seventh year parents comfort each other for a while after their kids leave. now would also be the time that her friends would fill the compartment, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Ale is absolutely alone. London is a shell of what it was barely two hours ago, when she lost her damned curious brother. Ale squeezes her eyes shut, but when she looks again, it’s more of the same destruction. suddenly, her gaze catches on something falling, and to her horror, the bomb falls on a building beside the tracks, tossing her against a wall but somehow not throwing the Express off its path. Ale gasps for air, entirely confused; what happened so quickly that the city is now so different? 

“think I know why there’s a raid today,” scoffs someone down the hallway, as with the explosion having knocked the train around, Ale’s door is open. “it’s those fanatics! they’re all German, anyways, and they know when the Express leaves.” 

“you can’t blame everything on Grindelwald, mate, he hardly cares about London,” sighs another. Ale blinks. 

“Grindelwald,” she mutters, “great. middle of a world war.” she can’t remember which, of course, because history isn’t her strongest subject. still, she knows that Albus Dumbledore eventually defeated him and the war ended. maybe she’s lucky enough to have been transported to such a period, so she only has to worry about getting back instead of getting back alive? she pulls out the pocket watch and glares at it. time turner, she decides, only somewhat confused; she thought they were destroyed, but she could be wrong. it wouldn’t matter, anyways, because any old time traveler could have come from before it happened and left it on the sidewalk for Gio and Ale to find. she theorizes until another Hufflepuff prefect arrives. 

“Olive, sixth year Hufflepuff prefect,” the girl curtsies, then adjusts her blonde updo. Ale curtsies back like some kind of toddler, no clue what exactly she’s doing. 

“Alessandra,” she introduces herself. “I’m also in sixth year.” Olive tilts her head in confusion, maybe at her accent and maybe at her curtsey, but probably because of the lack of familiarity. 

“have you already spoken with Headmaster Dippet?” now Ale is confused. Olive takes it as a no and guides her through the train, much longer than Ale remembers, to a compartment filled with prefects. “everyone, this is Alessandra. she’s a transfer, but she hasn’t met with Dippet.” 

“where are you from?” the head boy asks, pulling out a parchment and quill. Ale tells him her full name, because there’s a million Alessandra Paganos in Italy and she can’t be traced to her future self, and answers his question. the older boy pales slightly, then smiles. “sorry for your loss. did you just arrive today, or have you been staying somewhere?” 

“just arrived,” Ale frowns, guessing that she hasn’t had to lie yet. she’d rather talk to McGonagall, or even Harry Potter if she could, but she mostly wants to go back to her family. at least McGonagall was probably alive during Grindelwald’s reign. or, Ale thinks she was. the head boy nods, scratches out a letter, and hands it to an owl that immediately takes off. 

“would you like to hang out here, or stay in your compartment? we’ve got exploding snap,” the head girl suggests. Ale shakes her head and thanks the group. greenery flies past the window for a while, and then the head boy comes back and places the Sorting Hat on her head after explaining it. it shouted Hufflepuff immediately when she was eleven, but now it is silent for a few moments. 

“put me on your head, Head Boy,” it says aloud, making her jump, then announces that she’ll be placed into Slytherin house when the teenager follows its instructions. 

“I was sort of hoping you’d be in my house,” Olive admits with a confused frown, then shrugs. “I’ll go get Riddle and Hadresham.” 

“Tom and Margaret are your prefects, they’ll give you the tour and help you get settled in. my cousin’s son is a Slytherin, second year. Thaddeus Wilkes.” Ale almost laughs; of course the Wilkes is in Slytherin, or he wouldn’t be a Wilkes. “my name’s Lewis, by the way. if your prefects can’t fix a problem, come find me.” 

Ale nods, brain still half on what Harry Potter might do if he was in her position, when she stiffens and remembers the lecture he presented to her history of magic class. “Tom Riddle,” he said, “was Lord Voldemort’s real name. your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents feared him for the title he chose, but he was a student here just like all of you.” the wizard spoke a lot on how he’s been making historians write “Tom Riddle, the half-blood wizard known as Lord Voldemort” instead of just “the Dark Lord” or “You-Know-Who” in their books. the other half of his lecture was on how his cousin, who abused him, now regularly seeks his help with raising a magical daughter. Ale was a lot more interested in that half of the speech, but she didn’t know she actually remembered the boring half. her stomach drops in fear, because it took Harry Potter eighteen years to defeat the dark wizard with help, so how is Ale supposed to defend herself when Tom Riddle is only a few doors down and responsible for her success at Hogwarts? a literal squib killer, taking care of a squib? 

“what if my prefects are a problem?” she asks Lewis, who laughs. 

“they were chosen for a reason, Alessandra, trust me. Peggy is a healer in training, and Tom’s the best kid you’ll meet at this school,” the head boy proclaims, as if the idea were impossible. 

“i’m honored, Lewis, but there’s no need to put me on a pedestal.” 

Ale’s stomach goes from the floor to her throat and twists with nerves; she’s actually facing You-Know-Who, regardless of what Harry Potter thinks. he’s not even alive yet, so who cares? the future murderer certainly doesn’t seem threatening, with a smooth voice that scratches an itch she didn’t know she had. Ale chances a glance at his face and gets caught by the slight smile he wears; eyes like a doll’s in the shade of brown that glows, skin pale as if cut from marble, hair dark and perfectly styled like a movie star. he looks relaxed and genuinely content, despite the sharp angles of his facial structure. she introduces herself, and he kisses her hand politely with impossibly soft lips. Margaret curtsies like Olive. 

it’s eerie only because Ale knows who he is. 

“don’t worry about your stuff, it’ll be in your dorm when you arrive,” Margaret loops an arm around Ale’s and pulls her into the corridor as Lewis calls out a farewell. “we’re still about an hour from Hogsmeade. do you have a uniform?” 

“I just arrived, but I have other robes,” Ale says, not really confident in Hogwarts’ inability to change because of how strange things already are. assuming Tom Riddle doesn’t kill her within a day, she has to blend in long enough to figure out how to get back. “I can transfigure them.” oh, what a story she’ll have for Cicely and Unice. Joyce and Leonard won’t care, but those two only care about each other. 

“so where are you from?” 

“Peggy,” Riddle warns, hand softly resting on Ale’s shoulder. it only terrifies her. “sorry, Alessandra, she forgot.” Ale’s given name from Voldemort’s lips is… she doesn’t know what to do about it. she isn’t unsettled from his tone, but by her knowledge- he doesn’t seem at all like a villain. 

“apologies,” Margaret dips her head slightly and loosens her grip on Ale’s arm. “Tom, why don’t you tell her about Hogsmeade.” 

“of course.” as Riddle talks, he lets go of Ale’s shoulder, and speaks with the strange ability to enrapture everyone they pass. Ale starts to wonder if he gives them potions, or if something happened later on to make him dark. he says pretty much everything Ale already knows, except that the stores are somewhat different, and he doesn’t mention the Shrieking Shack. “and don’t worry about Grindelwald; Hogsmeade is open to the public, but there are teachers there whenever we are, so you’ll be safe.” Ale is tempted to raise a skeptical eyebrow, after years of seeing the memorial to everyone lost in the attacks and the final battle. every weekend. it barely slips through her manners before she stops herself. the last thing she needs is for Riddle to think she has any personality, individuality, or anything identifying, so if she does miraculously escape, he can’t hunt down the irascible squib from Italy who won’t be born until he has already been defeated. to be fair, Valentina was pretty heavily pregnant with Ale during the battle, but she and Cornelius were in Italy, so it doesn’t even matter. the battle pretty much occupied everyone’s attentions, so there’s no way a Death Eater would accept the assignment to go kill a pregnant pureblood in rural magical Italy when the fate of their master was in question. 

“is it okay if we sort of give you a makeover? just to make you feel welcome,” one of the Slytherins asks as they all settle in. apparently, Ale also travelled to just after Christmas break. 

“you don’t have to.” 

“you can teach us Italian, and we’ll teach you hair,” Margaret brightens and suggests. Ale doesn’t hold back her laugh, as she already tried and resorted to Rosetta Stone for her friends at home.

”yeah,” she says, anyways, because she really needs to not be a threat to Riddle. as long as none of the girls actually talk to him, she’ll be golden, right? 

in the middle of the night, Ale pulls her trunk onto her bed and charms her way into solitude. the magic costs her, because it’s a limited resource, but she has to survive, and she can recharge when she gets home. everything in her trunk is eventually something that one of the other students would own. exhausted, Ale falls asleep hugging a textbook. 

except that Riddle seems determined to make Ale welcome. Margaret practically swoons whenever he tells them he’ll give Ale a brief overview of classes or a rough map of the castle. it seems to be more for outwardly effects and not actually related to Ale herself until she ducks into an alcove at the sound of Riddle around the corner and he invades her space after only moments. there’s an entire curtain not only blocking Ale from the hallway, but now both of them, so she figures it can’t be so he seems like a better prefect. Ale pales; he must be suspicious. 

“what’s wrong, Alessandra?” he asks softly. he’s always soft, and sure. 

“just feeling a bit overwhelmed,” Ale throws in a giggle, but it’s weak. Riddle frowns. 

“i know you’re going through quite a lot. you can come to me for help. Margaret says you’re teaching her Italian.” 

Ale freezes. she tries to play it off, but Tom Riddle leans closer. “the girls-“

“Alessandra,” he interrupts, or practically croons, resting his temple against her own, cheekbone to cheekbone. “are you afraid of me?” Ale gulps. he brings a hand up the line of her uniform to her collar, and then rests his fingertips on her pulse. “are you?” 

she should be, she is, and she can’t lie when he’s listening to her heart. for a few long beats, Ale jumps between answers; lie, tell the truth, tell an unrelated truth, ask a question, tell an unrelated lie, she could do anything. there are very few options that prolong her life. Ale has never been threatened for being a squib before, or at least not seriously. 

Riddle begins tapping the side of her throat like he’s counting down, so she blurts, “i’m afraid!” and shoves the wizard away. it almost looks like his eyes are glowing red, but it could just be the dim light and maroon curtains. “leave me alone,” she gasps, and runs. 

it feels like the air raid all over again. she runs for her life to the Hufflepuff dorms, realizes she doesn’t know the password, and slips through the kitchens into the dungeons and then finds the bottom of the head student tower and climbs up the hidden ladder Joyce used to talk about. it takes a spell, but she hears brisk footsteps and doesn’t have a choice. finally, she collapses on Lewis’ couch. 

“bloody hell,” Thaddeus remarks from his armchair. “how did you get in here?” 

“i can do anything if i’m scared enough,” she replies breathlessly in Italian, to which he rolls his eyes like a typical twelve year old. Lewis appears in the doorway and asks Thaddeus’ same question, but just nods when she gives him the same answer. he sets his bag down on the coffee table and calls a house elf for tea. Ale tries not to think about how Voldemort is still her prefect. she sighs. 

“what’s going on, Alessandra?” Lewis asks, and Ale suddenly wants to tell him. she wonders if, because he’s distantly related to the Wilkes family through marriage, he’ll be a Death Eater or raise one. what if she told him? what would it change? “what can I do?” 

“i’m not from here,” she starts. “I don’t know how things work or what’s socially acceptable, what’s normal.” 

“that’s okay,” Lewis smiles, friendly and warm. 

“it would be, but oh, merlin,” Ale shouldn’t tell him. Thaddeus looks interested, which only means that she really shouldn’t say it. she decides on the problem that actually needs an answer, instead of the one threatening her. “i’m from the future.” both boys stare at her for a while. figuring she won’t be interrupted, she continues, “the Wilkes family, as well as others from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, helped Tom Riddle become a powerful dark wizard and kill countless people, wizard and muggle alike. he was defeated, and your family died out, a few months before I was born.” 

“why?” Lewis gasps. 

“at first it was because muggles, and anyone related to muggles, deserved nothing. and then sympathizers to the oppressed groups. werewolves, squibs, giants or half-giants. eventually, it was about fulfilling the prophecy at any cost.” Thaddeus asks what it was, but Ale doesn’t remember it that well. she never thought she’d need to outside of Binns’ class. “so many people died, I see the memorials everywhere! I never thought I’d be just like them.” tears slip out, so Ale covers her face. 

“he’s not going to kill you, he’s sixteen,” Thaddeus argues, in a kind attempt at encouragement. Ale watches the kid set his books aside and move to sit next to his cousin, who mentions that Tom just turned seventeen. 

“it doesn’t matter,” Ale tells him, “because I need to get back. my home is safe.” a knock at the door makes her flinch, and the voice announcing that he can’t find Alessandra and he’s worried only makes her jump up and run towards the bedrooms. 

“hey, hey, I get it! I get it.” Lewis pulls her back towards the couch, then shouts, “just a minute!” he focuses back on Ale. “if i travelled to Grindelwald’s childhood, i’d be pissed, but you have to blend in. you’ve dressed like the other students, but you’re still different. normally that would be a good thing.”

“what if we try reverse psychology? I read about it. pretend to be interested in him, and it’ll make him uncomfortable. I’ve seen it, trust me.” Thaddeus suggests out of the blue. Ale narrows her eyes at him in confusion- isn’t he a pureblood? 

“my family’s muggle,” Lewis tells her. 

she doesn’t really know how to express her relief, except to immediately blurt, “i’m a squib,” and clap her hand over her mouth. “he can’t know, or he’ll hunt me down as an example!” 

Riddle keeps knocking at the door. Thaddeus scurries over and reaches up to swipe away Ale’s tears. “just pretend to swoon, and he’ll run. say you’re great at magic, but obviously all of your spells fail. and I’m changing my name as soon as I can.” Ale hates lying, but Lewis charms away her tears and hands her a cold glass of water to refresh her before Thaddeus opens the door. 

“are you ready?” Lewis wonders, but Tom Riddle has already rushed in and kneeled by her side, eyes dark, cheeks flushed. 

“Tom,” she stutters, glancing back at the head boy for help. 

“what happened, Alessandra? I turned the corner, and you were running.” Ale resists rolling her eyes and instead reaches out and touches his shoulder. he doesn’t react, unfortunately. 

“you asked me if i was afraid, Tom. i didn’t know what to do, but-” she glances at Lewis again, and he nods- “it sounded like a threat, and I don’t want to embarrass you with a duel.”

“I-” Riddle clears his throat, brows falling for a moment, and then smiles tightly. “I’m sorry that I scared you; I suppose that I wanted to make sure that we’re on the same page. as friends, you know.” 

Ale blinks, and looks to Thaddeus, who gives a thumbs up that she doesn’t trust. “how about we go get dinner, Tom,” she suggests, and grabs his hand when Thaddeus motions for it. “I don’t want to keep Thaddeus from his studying.” 

“come back anytime, Alessandra,” Lewis tells her, and Thaddeus shakes her free hand as she passes him. 

Riddle doesn’t really react to anything. not to a strange extent, at least, for a teenaged boy. he sits beside Ale at dinner and walks with her to class, and blushes like a blooming rose on one strange occasion for no discernible reason. most of the time, though, he’s cool and silent. from the way he acts, he could be from Ale’s time and way out of her league. she’s proven that she knows better when he disappears for an entire week. 

they don’t have any classes together, and Ale is the only one who seems to notice, but it’s both a relief and a stressor, as she has no clue when he’ll turn up and choke her out. she spends most of her time in the library, or charming the charms professor into giving her access to the restricted section. she can’t wait around for Riddle to kill her when it’s the perfect opportunity to escape. 

“anything so far?” Thaddeus wonders, while going over stirring theory. Ale shuts her eyes for a moment and shakes her head; Tom Riddle is not the dark wizard she thought, but that doesn’t make him trustworthy in the least. Lewis, though he’s busy while Thaddeus and Ale study, said he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the prefect since Ale last did. “you know, Alessandra, I think we need to change the plan. i’m no grown-up, but it seems like you’re only making him like you. which is weird.”

“does he normally like people?” 

“no,” Thaddeus sighs and leans back against his mountain of pillows. “at least, not from what i’ve seen. he has friends. he’s friends with practically everyone, in fact. but he really spends a lot of time with you.” 

“that means he’s suspicious, not happy,” Ale points out, remembering Gio distantly and quickly shoving the feeling down. “i need to get out of here,” she mutters. 

“or,” Thaddeus continues loudly, “he thinks you’re pretty and interesting. which are both true things.” 

Ale looks over at the kid in surprise; she’s never been so bluntly complimented before by someone who didn’t have to mean it. maybe he feels more guilty for being a Wilkes than she thought? “thanks, kid,” she replies in Italian, but he’s been catching on to most of the things she says. better than the Slytherin girls, at least. 

“no problem. there’s also the possibility that someone else planted the time turner, and not you, in which case you won’t be getting back to your time with that specific time turner.” Ale blinks at the conversational hairpin turn, but then tells him what she thought of on the Express. “sounds like a theory, then.” 

“if it’s true, how do i get back?” 

“we simply don’t know, but future you does.” 

“future me doesn’t exist yet because we haven’t figured it out.” 

“Thaddeus! Alessandra! good to see you both comfortable, i see you’re studying for exams,” Lewis interrupts while opening the door, sounding almost normal except that he normally announces his arrival with breakthroughs or other relevant things. and then Ale sees who he brought. 

“Tom,” she greets, before Thaddeus does anything dumb. as if the kid is the dumb one in this situation- she’s kissing up to a teenager who wants her dead. “where have you been?” 

“walk with me,” Riddle invites. Ale takes his arm by habit at this point and almost doesn’t worry about her immediate safety. they talk about classes and the weather until they reach an empty study room. Ale closes the door and leans against it, having no clue and every clue as to the next step of their conversation. “we’ve known each other for a few months, now, Alessandra. i like to think we’re friends.” 

“we are, Tom,” Ale smiles her best, but he shakes his head. 

“tell me what’s really going on.” 

Ale frowns, wondering how he could have possibly caught on- maybe he overheard her conversations with Thaddeus and Lewis? “we seem to have a misunderstanding.” his eyes unmistakably flash scarlet before returning to a dulled brown. Ale’s heart leaps into her throat. 

“what is it?” he asks softly. too softly. Ale gulps and wonders how she got so comfortable with dark magic. 

“are-“ the absolute worst idea ever pops into her mind- “are we dating or no? because i don’t hold hands with anyone else, Tom.” it’s better to call him that, to separate him from the villain. but nothing here is that simple; Riddle’s eyes go dull, and his chin tilts up. 

“i will have my answer, Pagano, willingly given or not, so allow me to ask one last time. what’s really going on?” 

Ale was wrong. he doesn’t have some dual personality; there is no happy ending where Ale can save millions of lives except by snapping the wizard’s neck. if, that is, he doesn’t snap hers first. “Tom,” she tries, but only receives a harsh sneer and half a growl before Riddle’s wand is at her throat. 

she wishes that’s what she could be afraid of. she is, in a way, afraid of him casting anything on her, but there’s nothing she can do. 

“tell me,” he hisses, falling into the famed language of the snakes for probably a threat, but Ale has no clue. “who are you?”

“my name is Alessandra Pagano,” she starts, but with an incredulous frown, Riddle digs the end of his wand sharply into her throat. “i was born in Italia. these things are true, Tom,” it’s almost worse when his expression falls blank, and then worse when he steps away and Ale realizes she was backed against a desk, and worse still when his eyes turn a bright and unmistakable shade of red and

“crucio.” 

she can’t fake it. she’d never succeed. 

“there’s so much that i can’t tell you, Tom.” 

and she runs. that seems to be her only solution nowadays. 

Margaret is all for another Italian lesson, as are the other girls in the dorm. they study together and help each other make pin curls. Ale’s hair is naturally thinner and straighter and bigger and more stubborn than theirs, even though she only gets it from her father and they get it from both sides. still, the girls try and just blame the uselessness of their enchantments on the stiffness of Ale’s hair. they’re a lot dumber than You-Know-Who, which is, of course, exactly what Ale needed. she also needs to get him off her trail or get home. 

Riddle is drowsing in the corner of the common room when she peeks out, so she’s able to slip out without him noticing. it’s probably an act, but she doesn’t have many options. 

“Pagano, it’s nearly curfew!” the head girl admonishes, but lets her in to see Lewis and update him. 

“i shouldn’t have brought him, and now we’re all going to die. great.” Ale rolls her eyes at his dramatics, despite the truth in his words. 

“it’s not your fault, he’s a smart man. boy. whatever,” she shakes her head, “i need a working time turner, based on Thaddeus’ theory on someone else planting this one. it’s honestly the most reliable one we’ve got, even though we still have no idea who did it. i shouldn’t have waited this long, but i still don’t know the first thing about using time turners.” 

“where are you supposed to get another time turner?” 

“the Ministry, Lewis, didn’t we talk about this?” he has been busy with his head boy duties, but Ale doesn’t think she spends that much time with just Thaddeus. that would be weird, especially considering that she spends so much time in Lewis’ room. and Thaddeus hopefully has a social life. 

“i remember, the department of mysteries. career planning.” Lewis sighs. “do you really think it’s possible? no offense, but-“ 

“there’s skills i have that i can’t tell you about without killing you,” she says honestly, earnestly, then plays it off in regret by saying, “the first of which is picking a lock. honestly, the future is way more secure, you’d be terrified.” 

“i feel like the Ministry should be,” Lewis hums, and then, “but what about the fact that you’re living a few doors down from Riddle for the foreseeable future? you can’t just up and leave Hogwarts without warning, it’s suspicious.” 

“I could say i’m going back to Italia to rescue my brother,” Ale tries, having learned that magical Italy has been enslaved by Grindelwald. she had no idea her people had suffered so much. 

“no one would stop you, he’s your brother!” Lewis cheers. Ale nods, choking down her grief. “oh- Alessandra, you actually have a brother, don’t you?” 

she packs her bags immediately and scrawls a note in Gio’s handwriting on parchment that Lewis charms to make look travel-worn, and then gives Thaddeus a hug because Riddle is nowhere to be seen. “why now?” the kid asks. 

“no time like the future,” she tells him in Italian, and then presses the old time turner into his grip. “take care of this, and never say those words. they’re kind of mean.” 

“i know they are-“ 

“running? again? you’re supposed to be a Slytherin.” Thaddeus flinches at Riddle’s tone. Ale pushes him back to his dorm even as tears flood his eyes and Ale knows she’ll never see him again. not in any timeline. Lewis guides him as well, eyes shining, smile grim. the head boy nods and closes the door after them. whatever established contentment she’s had at this Hogwarts, despite Riddle, it’s time to go now. she turns to face him. 

“unless your intentions aren’t to kill me, i’m going to find my brother-“ Riddle grips her arm as she tries to pass him. 

“my intentions are to figure you out. i don’t know how you resisted the crucatious curse, and it’s imperative i do.” 

“the very same reason i’m going back to my brother,” Ale fills in honestly. it isn’t the answer he wants, but he thinks hard enough to let go, so she hurries to Dippet’s office. McGonagall’s office, really. 

“i’m going with you, then,” Riddle declares just before she reaches the bottom of the winding staircase. she sighs and stares up at her inevitable trek. then at the future dark lord, who has a cloak on and his trunk floating behind him. 

“i don’t trust you,” she argues, flying past her established eggshell walk and fixing the prefect with a glare. he simply arches a perfect eyebrow. 

“nor i you, Pagano.” Riddle yanks the forged letter from her hands and starts up the staircase. Ale- Ale doesn’t know what to do, so she chases after him and shoves him as hard as she can. his trunk falls, and his eyes gleam red, and she shoves him again. 

“you’re not coming with me because that would be like traveling with Grindelwald himself, you-“ 

“or maybe Italy isn’t your true destination? maybe Dippet would send you too far.” 

Ale frowns, and tries to shove him again, but he doesn’t yield. “i’ll save my family on my own without you killing me, or- or torturing me for information-“ 

“well, cheesy seduction didn’t work.” 

“excuse me!” snaps an outside voice, one that makes Riddle’s sneer deepen and then disappear in a careful mask. Ale turns around and spots Dumbledore at the base of the staircase, beside Ale’s abandoned trunk, with sparkling eyes that give Ale the creeps. the late headmaster is always spoken highly of, but Ale hates his transfiguration class. 

Riddle greets the man hollowly. “what seems to be the issue?” 

“to begin with, mister Riddle, miss Pagano, you are both out of bed past curfew. secondly, i could hear your argument from my office, and it worried me.” 

Ale purses her lips. whatever Harry Potter says- and she begins a lot of sentences like that, to many a fan’s disappointment- she doesn’t trust Dumbledore to save her. considering her house, he’d probably just have her sent to Azkaban for this. she sees his bias. and then there’s the pressing issue of her swift exit, which needs to happen. 

“i was simply seeking headmaster Dippet’s counsel, as i wish to rescue my brother from Italia, and Tom insisted he should come with me, but i don’t like him.” 

“i heard, miss Pagano, like i said,” Dumbledore smiles tightly. his eyes sparkle. Ale resists making a face. 

“i apologize for the noise, professor,” she sighs, stepping down towards him only to grab her trunk and start dragging it up the staircase. 

“i’m going to have to speak with you, miss Pagano,” the professor asserts, but in vain. Ale tears her letter from Tom as she passes him and keeps going. 

she grits her teeth. Tom? the only thing she needs to think of him is how to get away. 

sure, they’re familiar, but she literally just fought him. Ale shoves the letter in her pocket and pulls her trunk with both hands until the weight mysteriously lifts. 

“we return to our original argument,” Riddle mutters, and Ale looks back to see Dumbledore following her up the staircase as well, but much slower due to his age. even though he looks young, he doesn’t act it. “i’m coming with you.” 

“who cares, Tom? there’s so many people in the world who can resist that curse.” she’s even quieter than Tom because the professor is absolutely listening in. “why are you suspicious of me?” 

“the more you let down your act, the stranger you are. afraid, unafraid, it’s confusing. and none of those people are your age,” is the answer, which is too easy to argue against. 

“i’m an individual who has escaped slavery, Tom, not an actress.” 

“you were sorted into Slytherin house.”

“children, please,” Dumbledore snaps. Tom’ eyes glow, red in the moonlight, but he doesn’t look back and keeps his lips shut. the color doesn’t dull back to brown until they reach the top of the staircase, which is a terrifyingly extended period of time. Ale can’t stop looking at him. 

Dippet is still awake, if annoyed right up to when Ale shows him the letter. Dumbledore tries to relay the argument he overheard, but Dippet is clearly head over heels for Riddle and sends them off with some of his own money and a bag of things they “might need” for their trip. 

and then he escorts them both to the front door and says farewell. 

“Armando, exams are quickly approaching-“ 

“have you ever seen Riddle actually helping someone? take the win, Albus.” 

the doors close before Ale can figure out through context if that means Dippet thinks Riddle is actually going to help, or if he’s just grateful to be rid of the future dark lord. probably the former, but the latter isn’t impossible. “Tom-“ 

“looks like we can’t take the Express,” Tom remarks, and slings the Mary Poppins bag they’ve been promoted to over his shoulder with an expectant look. 

Ale sighs. “through the forest, then, assuming we don’t die the second we enter.” 

they don’t, and though it seems like the Forbidden Forest stretches on forever, they break through the other side around sunrise in a small Scottish town that’s probably abandoned and definitely muggle. the forest itself is uneventful- probably from a combination of Tom’s darkness and Ale’s immunity. the town, however, doesn’t seem to have anything past a bar and a barber. not even an inn, to Ale’s horror, because she hasn’t slept in almost a full twenty four hours and they walked almost nonstop through the forest. nothing about this is ideal. 

a muggle stops them from his porch with a frown and a shout. he’s clean shaven, and tenser than Riddle, somehow. Ale just curtsies and grins brightly, and then speaks Italian until Tom takes over because she isn’t from his time and can’t cover her ass. 

“forgive my wife, she has dementia.” Ale doesn’t throw her hands in the air and walk away in response, but she does blink passive-aggressively at Riddle as he strikes up a conversation with the muggle. impressively, all they talk about is dementia, and then Riddle excuses them because “we must be on our way, but maybe we’ll see you again. right Alessandra?” 

Ale throws insults at him while grinning politely like she’s agreeing. the muggle waves, and they go. 

“Italian is much closer to English than you think, Pagano, you can’t call me a monster in front of people who don’t think you’re crazy.” 

“English is nothing like Italian,” Ale argues, because that’s true, English is way dumber, and then goes back to the point at hand. “maybe i wouldn't call you a monster if you didn’t tell that man we are married and i’m unstable, Tom.” 

“oh, are we two friendly underage dropouts? i apologize, i thought we were avoiding attention, not trying to get arrested.” 

“that’s not what i mean!” Ale snaps back, even though that’s exactly what she meant. still, Tom arches a brow and Ale makes a face, taking the Mary Poppins bag for a shift. “you’ve barely tried to fool me into thinking you’re a half decent person, and i know you’re capable of worse things than trying to cause pain.” 

“what do you think is worse than pain?” Tom asks. Ale seals her lips and keeps walking, because truth that way leads. 

there’s a tent in the Mary Poppins bag, which would have been useful to know, but Ale doesn’t find it until the late afternoon, when her steps are slow and small. Tom doesn’t fare much better. they find a flat space and sit for a solid hour before he can muster the strength to set a perimeter. Ale sets up the tent, but doesn’t get around to activating the space inside, because why would she have that spell? Tom just huffs, unimpressed, and does it for her. 

there’s two beds, and nice ones at that, so Ale falls asleep with her school robes and shoes still on. to say the least, she expected the Express. Tom wakes her by tugging on her shoelaces, which makes her shout and jump away- 

“what the hell?” she yelps in Italian. Tom rolls his eyes and gestures to her shoes. 

“that can’t have been comfortable, and Italy is a considerable way away.” 

Ale stares at him for a few beats, wondering how she keeps getting caught in lies. that’s why she’s supposed to be a Hufflepuff, right? “that’s what trains are for,” she tries, hoping there actually are trains all over Europe in this time, because public travel is safer for the moment Tom realizes what Ale is. safer for Ale, at least. 

not for anyone else. 

“is that how you got to England?” he asks, going into the kitchen is he talks. “i assumed Grindelwald had control of muggle travel as well.” 

“i was willing to give anything to get to Hogwarts,” Ale replies placatingly. “it was a confusing process, and all my decisions were based on the conditions i was in rather than where i wanted to be.” when Tom fixes her with a blank look, she continues, “reaching King’s Cross meant i’d have this opportunity to go back and find my brother. i have Dippet’s support.” 

“you have my support, not the headmaster’s,” Tom corrects her, which isn’t entirely false, but also is. Ale doesn’t want his support; she doesn’t want him around, she barely wants him alive, and she needs a way to get rid of him. “you’re not the only reason i’m going, though.” 

“what-“ Ale sighs, because he’s a Slytherin, of course- “what could you possibly get out of going to Italia with a girl you barely know?” 

“i have a personal interest. we’ll part ways when i know you and your brother are safe, and i’ll be back to sit my NEWTs.” 

he says it like he’s serving dinner, or organizing ballet lessons, and Ale is so thrown by what he says that she barely realizes how genius it is. she can use Tom Riddle to get into the Ministry. a terrible plan, of course, but Ale has until London to work out the kinks. and maybe find a stunning spell. 

“what’s your personal interest in Italy?” Ale wonders as they walk along a dirt road. the silence took them past lunch, but Ale feels tension and fear build up in her gut- she needs to know what he’s thinking to gauge the level of her safety. Tom continues to stare blankly ahead. 

“it doesn’t affect you.” 

“aren’t we friends?” 

“Alessandra,” he groans, slowing his stride. “we both know that’s done.” 

“you’re here now, pretending to help. you said i have your support?” Ale tries, but he shakes his head. she bites her lip and starts looking around for flat areas to set up camp. “sun’s getting lower.” 

“we can go a while longer, it’s barely four,” Tom disagrees. “maybe you like to talk, but i don’t.” 

“yeah?” Ale scoffs. “name one time this year you weren’t too busy loving the sound of your own voice to show someone else respect. name a single time.” 

“what part of acting don’t you get?” he snaps back, shifting the bag on his shoulders with a frown. Ale rolls her eyes, because Tom Riddle the model prefect has to be based in truth, or he wouldn’t be able to do it. “you don’t think?” 

“no one told you to do it,” she shrugs. Tom just relaxes his expression and goes silent until they set up the tent again. Ale manages to change into pajamas- a nightgown, because women just don’t wear pants for some reason- before falling asleep, a step up from the first night. Tom walks around the tent a bit, but Ale seals up her section so they don’t run into each other. mostly, she can’t stomach the idea of Voldemort in pajamas. 

hell no. 

it takes almost a week to reach London, swapping stories about Lewis and Margaret to fill the silence. they pass through towns, but only stay in the tent to save money and remain under the radar. or at least, Ale uses the word radar, Tom asks what it means, and Ale pretends like it’s a meaningless Italian word. she’s never walked so much in her life, and though it’s clear Tom hasn’t, either, he pushes to keep the same time every day. Ale complains, getting more exhausted as time passes, but Tom argues that her brother’s life is at stake. she snaps at him, partially afraid because she can’t seem to keep a lie and partially because it’s none of his business. he’s only joining her for selfish reasons, and doesn’t deserve to be treated like a partner; he’s just a stowaway. 

there’s no way to set up the tent in London, but they have a few minutes to think during dinner at a restaurant in Diagon Alley. Tom hated the bus; Ale felt a little better for having made a Dark Lord disgruntled. it is different that they spent all week beside each other and now sit face to face, but Ale makes do by avoiding eye contact altogether. the food is alright, if enchanted to make up for a lack in taste. the enchantments always make her sick, so she nibbles on the milder food and leans back to people-watch. 

“what’s wrong?” Tom wonders, setting aside his utensils. he had chosen the restaurant, clearly unaware of the truth of the food. or maybe he just doesn’t care. his expression is blank as usual, except for one perfectly arched brow. 

“not hungry. we could stay at an inn here and take muggle transportation as far as it’ll take us,” she suggests, but Tom shakes his head. she wonders if there’s something wrong with the plan, but he begins eating again with a careful mask. pausing, Ale asks herself why she considers his expression a mask so often. what does she think is behind it? 

“I suppose we’ll need rings, if anyone we stand within twenty feet of is going to believe us.” Ale chokes. what could that possibly mean? she can’t go even a few hours- until she slips away to get a time turner- pretending to be insane, as good of an idea as it unfortunately is. while it is true that she doesn’t know how to speak to people from Tom Riddle’s time, she still doesn’t like being so undignified. she makes a face and rubs at her eye. finally, she sighs and nods. there’s no denying the advantages of the charade. “perfect, i’ll pick them out while you exchange some of the money for muggle currency, they have those services at Gringotts,” he gestures to the marble building partially visible from the window seat he chose. “i can exchange the rest when they have a shift change.” 

Ale goes without complaint, after agreeing to meet at the Leaky, but runs into a small issue. wizards can be fooled, hell, Harry Potter was fooled into thinking Ale is a witch. goblins are another story. she barely steps over the threshold before being stared down and ushered out. groaning, she looks around for another way; she can’t exactly show up without any muggle money. she tries again to go in, insisting in a whisper that she’s being held hostage by You-Know-Who in case they know who. they don’t. nothing about the situation is ideal, and she’s about to resort to begging a stranger for a favor when one of the goblins steps out to meet her. 

“squibs are allowed in Gringotts,” he says slowly, scowling deeply as goblins always do. Ale asks him what the problem is. “you need to sign a contract vowing not to harm the bank or any employee.” 

“easy,” she snaps, then pauses before the goblin can let her in. “why?” 

he provides as close to a grimace as she figures a goblin will get. “you can’t make a magical vow, so we’re offering a legal one.” 

“no, i mean-“ 

“the answer you seek isn’t to be spoken in public. come in,” the goblin beckons, and leads Ale past the long lines and the doors to the vaults all the way to a nondescript office. “i haven’t had a case since the last rebellion, so forgive the mess.” the goblin shuffles some books around and pulls out a parchment and quill. 

“what do you know about me?” 

“squib, time traveler, reflective. you could be deflective, and you used to be, based on how excitable your spells are, but you have remarkable control,” he hums while scribbling on the parchment. “of course, reflective and deflective don’t encompass your abilities, but all that matters in this case is that we can’t hurt you.” 

Ale gulps. suddenly, all she wants is to get back to her own time. get back to Gio, to her parents, to Cicely and Unice. “okay,” she says, and her voice cracks, but she just frowns and reads the contract over carefully. it’s simple, and broad, but Ale doesn’t catch on anything unrelated to her being a possible threat to goblinkind. so she signs. 

“this will apply when you return to your own time, regardless of how you change the timeline.” 

has she? what might happen? Ale tries not to show too much fear as she makes her way to the Leaky with the cash. if she leaves tonight, how much will be different? surely she hasn’t turned the world on its axis. maybe it’s just a precaution. Tom gives her a suspicious glance, but leads her up to their shared room and hands her an elaborate coin silver wedding band. or at least, just elaborate enough that she’d show it off, but not so elaborate she looks like she actually afforded it. 

“thanks,” Ale chokes out, and takes a deep breath. what if the world she arrives in is different? Tom frowns again, brow creasing, and takes the ring back. slowly, he untangles her hands to slip the ring onto her finger as if they were actually getting married. Ale bites her cheek and takes a sharp breath because her lungs seem empty. the room doesn’t have any oxygen. Tom holds Ale’s hands with his own elegant fingers for a moment before dropping them and walking over to the desk. 

Ale gulps again. as if things couldn’t be more troubling. her heart races with fear, but her hands buzz with pleasure. 

she waits for the sun to set, and then she waits for Tom’s guard to lower, and then she sits at the desk, digging through their Mary Poppins bag while he reads on the bed. anything to knock him out, she figures, pulling out a wrench and weighing it in her hand. next she finds a sleeping drought that makes her put the wrench back. why Dippet put that in there, she doesn’t have to know. 

“having trouble?” Tom asks, voice toned low. Ale remembers what she thought the first time he spoke, but brushes the feeling away to stand and walk over to the bed. there’s no easy way to dose him; he isn’t going to eat or drink until the morning. knowing this, Ale breathes deep and swings a leg over his waist as smoothly as she can. finally, she sits on his chest and holds his stunned gaze as she goes to force the potion down his throat. it’s clearly meant to be diluted, so even though he manages to shove Ale away, he stumbles back and gasps. 

“having trouble?” she can’t help but ask. 

“who the bloody hell-“ he runs out of steam. Ale takes the opportunity to drag him by the shirt collar to the Floo. 

“take us to the Ministry,” she hisses in his ear, gut churning. surprisingly, he does, and then falls asleep on her shoulder. 

the place is closed due to the time, but she still can’t risk him waking up before she leaves. Ale drags the teenager over to a bench and ties him to it best she can with rope holding up a banner for muggle soldier appreciation day. she quietly thanks merlin that she managed to need something muggle the one day they decide muggles aren’t terrible. 

the next challenge is that Ale has never been to the Ministry, let alone the department of mysteries, so it takes a lot of guesswork and sign reading before she even finds the entrance, but then she has no clue which door leads to the time turners. she tries each one with no luck, and then finally opens the last door and is blasted with the sound of millions of ticking pocket watches on endless shelves, like the prophecies but somehow worse. without thinking further, Ale grabs one that looks just like the one she left behind and tries around fifty years to the future based on a diagram on the wall. 

Ale did not go to the right time. the next thing she knows, she’s being pulled by a stranger back out of the room. 

“-a valiant effort, and i should warn you, fighting will give you away.” 

“wait,” Ale gasps, escaping from the right grip and recognizing the voice. he isn’t twelve anymore, he’s around middle aged for a wizard, but it is unquestioningly him. “Thaddeus?” 

“been waiting for you. i knew you’d end up here sometime, so i got a job. didn’t think you’d pop up in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

Ale laughs openly, and hugs him- she got out, she actually got out! “i have to go further, and get back to my own time,” she tells him, shaking her head and smiling. “those deaths,” she sighs and shakes her head again, “i don’t know what might change.” 

“trust me, you’ll want to go. my family has been looking for you, and he tried to kill me to get the information, but he never thought to wait like i did, didn’t even think i might hide out here,” the boy- man, Ale sighs again- smiles proudly, then lets his expression fall slightly. “i needed you to be able to stop him as soon as you arrived. he somehow read my mind and heard you telling me about your hometown, and i think he’s going to send someone there if you don’t stop him.” 

Ale’s mind reels. she thought she’d be fine, thought fifty years was such a long time, but she still isn’t born yet and Harry Potter is about to die. so is Voldemort, but Thaddeus doesn’t know that. maybe she changed his life. “what do i do?” she asks, instead. 

that’s how she ends up going from facing Tom Riddle in his teenage years to facing Voldemort just before his last fall. Thaddeus points to the Forbidden Forest she remembers entering not too long ago, and disapparates. figuring that Voldemort sending a death eater to kill her mother in the middle of the battle isn’t too far off if he knows where she is, Ale steels her nerves and walks. the death eaters standing guard attack, but with magic, and Ale catches them on instinct.

“what do you want, girl?” asks one of the masked ones when they all realize they aren’t doing any damage, while others crowd around her as a cage. “do you wish to join us?” she almost scoffs. 

as if. “i’m only here to-“ 

she doesn’t know what she would have said, if the humongous snake hadn’t approached. as it is, she faces the snake and freezes up, honestly afraid. being choked out or bitten by a snake isn’t how she wants to die; she was really thinking it would be surrounded by family back at home, when she’s well past old. of course, it’s not like the snake cares. it lifts its head and rears back, and then the death eaters fall to kneel in near unison. 

“Alessandra,” hisses Voldemort, entirely different from the young man she left only a few minutes ago. a chill runs over Ale’s spine at the word, sounding more like a curse than a name. maybe she happened to only travel this far because if she went any further, she wouldn’t exist anymore. horrified, Ale keeps her eyes fixed on the snake still threatening her. “in a few minutes, you’ll cease to exist. any last words?” the syllables blend together with the way he talks, high pitched and breathy. but he essentially confirmed her theory. 

Ale looks up to face Voldemort directly and holds back the knee-jerk reaction to run from his glowing scarlet eyes and disfigured expression. “you’d try to kill another baby just so you might have never been disliked by one person when you were sixteen?” she asks, honestly. “or did you honestly feel betrayed that i left?” she twitches her hand to bring his attention to her ring, to the moment that was only a few hours ago for her but a lifetime ago for him. 

“you killed all your little friends, Alessandra,” he replies, instead of answering, but she frowns at his words, anyways. Voldemort killed in her name. Ale was so sure she hadn’t made any impact, but she only made things worse. “i’ve sent a Wilkes to kill you, and he’ll no doubt succeed, but i find myself wanting to do the same, and to carve that ring from your finger,” he hisses. 

Ale shakes her head. how does she stop him? she grasps at mental straws and only comes up with telling the truth about her imperviousness. “go ahead,” she offers. “no snake,” she adds, when the thing starts to look a little active, “just you and me, Voldemort. do it.” 

he’s not curious anymore. or if he is, he doesn’t care, especially to show it. Voldemort just kills without question, and being invited is as good a way as any. he fires the killing curse, and then another, and then another. Ale remembers how the goblin described her spells as being excitable and feels like she’s bursting at the seams. Voldemort doesn’t ask any questions, but he gets angrier, and closer, and then lifts Ale by her throat. 

“you’re not Harry Potter,” he snaps, clearly bearing much more hate for the hero than for Ale. “you’re a squib, that mudblood told me.”

“i deflect,” Ale gasps. finally, Voldemort throws her to the ground. it’s pretty close to a question, considering the state of the asker. “Wilkes won’t kill me, and neither will you, because i’m impervious.” she quietly sneaks a hand into her pocket. 

“Bellatrix, your knife,” Voldemort demands. the death eater presents it to him with a wide grin indicating just how unhinged she is- Bellatrix Lestrange, dead in Ale’s world but so very real now. “what do you fear, Alessandra?” 

“i fear finding a time turner and accidentally traveling so far in the past i still don’t know what year it was,” Ale answers honestly. “what did you expect me to do, show up and tell the truth, knowing what you were already becoming?” 

“i asked,” Voldemort hisses, “you resisted. you can’t resist this,” and just as he lunges forward, Ale squeezes the time turner. 

it doesn’t move her through space, so she’s still in the Forbidden Forest when she arrives. quickly, Ale runs to the castle, then inside and all the way to the Head Boy quarters, where Thaddeus sits with his nose in a book and Lewis gasps when he opens the door. 

“Floo me to the Ministry. i made a mistake, i have to stay longer,” she tells him, and is promptly buried in hugs. Thaddeus cries, unwilling to let Ale go, but she tells him she’ll probably be back at Hogwarts soon. Lewis squeezes her arm as they go through the Floo to Dippet’s office, and then to the Ministry before Dippet can say anything. 

“i’ll explain to him, i’m Head Boy,” Lewis smiles weakly, smoothing Ale’s dirty sleeves. his hand catches on the ring, but he shakes his head instead of asking and gives Ale one last hug. 

“it’s been a long week,” Ale sighs, relaxing for the moment. Lewis hums and leaves. 

right. down to business, Ale supposes. Tom, the Tom she knows, is only a short walk away. he starts to wake up as she approaches, but the dirty look she’s thrown is hardly threatening compared to how her pulse is still jumping from the close call with Voldemort. the sharp lines of his jaw are brought out in a snarl. 

“what did you do?” 

he’s still tied up, and Ale is tired, so she throws whatever safety and dignity she had out the window and sits beside him on the bench. “the truth is, Tom, i’m from the future. i forged that letter from my brother so I could break into the Ministry for a working time turner, because i couldn’t find instructions for mine, but I couldn’t go past the day you died because you vowed to kill me by having someone kill my mother mid-pregnancy.” 

Tom stares, eyes glowing red in the dim atrium, while regret pools in Ale’s gut. she looks down and bites her lip. she’s never had so many spells before, and they press from all sides. her self control is gone. 

“you don’t know anything-”

“wanna see my history of magic grades? abysmal. doesn’t matter, cause last i checked, Voldemort’s return lasted like, two years, and my life was fine until i ended up here-” 

Ale is lifted by the shoulder and shoved against the wall, and the young dark lord’s eyes are a scalding iron red, hand different but the same as the one that was around her throat before. this time, he doesn’t let go. instead, he presses her collarbone further into the brick, holding his wand to her throat and bunching up her shirt to keep a solid grip. breath comes easier than when she was being formally choked out, but it’s almost worse facing Tom now that she’s told him part of the truth. his face is sharper, shadowed even when there was barely any light to begin with. she knows he’s terrified, but she’s a bit prideful for it like when they rode the bus. even still, Ale wonders what he’s done so far. is Myrtle dead? has the chamber been opened?

“you’re right, you’ll die for that,” he says, falling into more hiss than word. 

“what did you do, the week you disappeared?” Ale asks instead of resisting. the less she does, the less likely the spells are to explode. “did you open the chamber of secrets?” 

“who the bloody hell are you?” Tom demands; his hair falls over his eyes, and as he presses further against Ale’s collarbone, she feels the spells gather, making her heart pound. 

“let go.” 

“you may know my name, but you do not know my power, Alessandra.” 

“oh, believe me,” she laughs with a shallow breath, “i do.” 

“alright, then,” the weight lifts from Ale’s chest, but only because Tom pulls back and then drags her by the shirt collar to the Floo. she’ll take the win, even if it means getting murdered somewhere else. the present- and for a reason she can’t quite articulate, not killing Tom- is what matters. 

she doesn’t sleep, but Tom does, after staring blankly at the ceiling for a while. he doesn’t make any noise, just soft breaths, and his pajamas look like day clothes. it’s relieving, to say the least, because Ale literally can’t look away. he tied her to a chair. granted, she’s so charged up with spells that she could flatten the Leaky and feel like breaking the surface right when the water seems too deep. Ale shakes all night. 

“your mind is a steel trap, even to me. i’ve been trying to read it since we met,” Tom admits calmly in the morning. he brings up porridge and eats it alone without offering any. “seeing as the only other person i’ve met with such an ability was Dumbledore, it only made me more curious.” Ale curses under her breath. 

“we’re taught it in the future.” 

“that may be clearest lie you’ve told me yet.” 

“what is it you want?” 

“information, Alessandra. if that’s even your real name,” he scoffs lightly. Ale nods slowly. “start at the beginning, and if you miss a detail, well.” a flash of metal in his hand catches her eye; a knife, because the crucatious curse didn’t work. 

“your beginning or mine?” 

Tom’s eyelids fall, irises tinting just red. “yours.” 

she tells him first her basic identity, even though he already knows it, and it makes him roll his eyes and bite his candy pink lips. the knife falls to the bed as he stands, though. she takes it as an affirmation. 

next she tells him about her mother, a proud blooded woman of a certain flair. her father. Gio. everyone she left behind, pausing to collect herself whenever she realizes she doesn’t remember something until Tom stops his slow pacing to grip Ale’s armrests and loom over her suddenly. “i asked you to tell me who you are, not what kinds of people you associate with. all you’ve established is that you’re not pure blooded and your character here was based in truth.” the air is too thin and too thick at the same time. 

“my friends and family influence me, for better or worse.” 

“did they make you travel through time?” 

“yes.” Ale recounts the last few months, clearer in her mind than her true life. Tom’s frown blanks, and he goes back to pacing, jaw tight. “and last night, i used a time turner from the Ministry to try and return to my own time. Voldemort stopped me, however.” 

“how far did you go?” 

“he didn’t look like you,” she tells him, gut churning, but he turns to glare at her, so she answers, “around fifty years.” 

“i’ll-“ 

“you’ll never be ready for it, Tom. not if you continue pursuing the dark arts,” Ale blurts, pushing against the conjured ropes and feeling the spells move almost with a lag. they’re so heavy. “if you take on the name Voldemort, millions of people will die, including you.” 

“you don’t know anything about your history, like you said,” Tom scoffs. “besides, i’m going to be immortal.” 

“it’s hard not to miss the memorials, the statues, the recovery that’s taken far longer than putting Hogwarts’ bricks back in place. my graduating class is the smallest in history, Tom, there are so many dead, and we weren’t even born yet when the war ended.” 

Ale’s throat burns with the bruise forming from Voldemort’s grip, but it’s bearable compared to the spells that jump when Tom stops. they’re his spells, after all. she gasps, and squeezes her eyes shut to reel them back in. the goblin’s words echo in her mind- she could deflect. 

“what happened when you used the time turner? tell me exactly,” Tom orders, spinning on one heel to continue his pacing. Ale breathes a sigh of relief as the spells relax minutely. 

“i travelled to Hogwarts.” 

“how? the Floo?” 

Ale can’t give up Thaddeus if Tom does end up becoming Voldemort. “yes. i realized i couldn’t go any further, and went to the battle.” 

“i die in battle?” he wonders quietly, like he imagined something different, but equally masculine. 

“i don’t know how Voldemort died, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ale remarks, “but i saw him.” 

“me, you saw me.” 

if Ale were any more connected to the war, Tom would have been dead the second she laid eyes on him if she thought he was anything like Voldemort. damn the timeline, damn the consequences. “it wasn’t you, it was- he-“ 

Tom stalks over when she gives up on stuttering and puts her energy into holding back tears and spells. slowly, he lifts a hand from his pocket; he looks like he’s shaking, but that could be Ale. she groans and bends over, pushing back the spells so as not to level the building. he taps her jaw lightly, and then lifts it to look at her throat when she doesn’t respond. 

“who gave you this?” 

“who do you think?” 

his lip curls, and he turns away with a scoff. “alright, here’s what we’ll do, Alessandra. we’ll stay here for two more days, then go to Italy for my own purposes and you’ll take that time to tell me everything you know. there’s more you haven’t told me,” he spins the knife without looking at her, but it’s clear enough, “and i will get it out of you.” 

“is that all?” Ale asks. Tom turns his head just to show off his profile, but still doesn’t turn back around. 

“breathe a word of our agreement to anyone, and i will kill you in every way i know how.” 

they stay in the cramped Leaky room, dress as adults, and flash their rings. Tom watches her carefully, and the bruises continue to darken because she can’t spell them better. she only lasts one day in a high collar before the pain and humiliation get to her and she sneaks off to a muggle drugstore. if Voldemort knew, he’d celebrate, but Tom seems less enthused about the dark blotches that swell up her throat and stiffen her movements. Ale is even less enthused; she picks up foundation to match the rest of her neck and familiar looking painkillers, face hot with a blush the entire time she’s out. she’s almost grateful for time travel when the bill is a tenth of what it usually is, but that’s about the only benefit to the whole mess. her image is controllable, whereas Voldemort’s spells jump at every sound and twitch of Tom’s eye. Ale stews on different tactics of manipulating Voldemort’s younger self into- at the very least- not killing her. 

Tom himself sits with his knees spread on the couch in their room when she returns, eyes hooded and dark, in a league far past human standards. his ring glints in the soft light when she moves closer. 

“what?” she sighs, even though she’s the one who messed up. he says as much. “do you really need to babysit me?” he’s kept too close a watch on her recently, and she knows she’ll die if she leaves. he knows too much, and Ale is the one who told him. she’s too on edge. 

“babysit; how charming of you,” he sneers, and Ale mutters in Italian about bad acting. “no.” 

“no?” 

“you know what will happen if you misbehave, I’m sure that’s enough to keep you in line,” he practically hums, and doesn’t move when she sneers, not even a twitch. he also doesn’t move when she brushes past him to go to bed. “you had better hope your knowledge is worth your life,” he starts, however, which prompts Ale to turn on a heel and rush to loom over him. Voldemort’s presence in her hands is heavy and gets to her for a moment. 

“I know you wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, but i can’t count the number of times you’ve tried, Tom-”

“you’re only afraid of me because i kill your family, even though i haven’t yet?”

Ale bares her teeth, but Tom just leans further into the couch cushions, eyes dull, pupils blown, the image of control. she realizes the position they’re in- him posed seductively, her between his knees, and the temptation to push for more power wins her over. her own knee is settled inches away from his inseam before she fully realizes what she’s doing, and she has to grip the couch behind his shoulders to ground herself. he only stares at her, but his gaze begins to glow with confusion, and his lip curls between his teeth softly, drawing her attention. 

“you can’t do shit to me, you half-blood monster, and if you even look at the people i care about, i’ll return the favor in spades. the only reason i’m here is to stop you from hurting them. i’m not afraid of you, asshole, i’m pissed off.” 

abruptly, she pulls away and goes to get ready for bed, but not without noticing how her actions affected him, because he crosses his legs almost immediately and rests a book over his lap. subtle. 

for some reason, all she gets at breakfast is a nod towards the Floo, but there’s no way to tell him she can’t do it as he steps up in the line, and then carefully and confidently sends himself to the Ministry. Ale swears aloud- she can’t get in without someone else opening the door for her- and bolts as soon as he’s gone. the street entrance is too far on foot to convince Tom that she actually used the Floo. she swears again and frantically flags down a taxi outside, throwing an unnecessary amount of muggle money at the driver and giving him directions to be quick. 

“hey, hey, kid, calm down!” 

“i will not,” she snaps in Italian, “for the sake of my life and millions of others.” the driver raises his brows in a worried frown. 

“what have you gotten yourself into, giovane?” Ale jumps. the spells jump. “don’t worry, secret’s safe with me, but you might not want to slip around anyone else.” 

“just turn left,” she tells him, tossing more money over the barrier. he laughs, and accelerates while Ale’s heart races- they’re barely breaking fifty kilometers an hour, to her frustration, because in her day they’d be going at least eighty, maybe somewhere around a hundred. it takes too long to pull up in front of the abandoned warehouses, over half an hour, and she leaps out before they even reach a full stop. the driver shouts after her, but she couldn’t care less, flinging the phone box door open to see Tom Riddle himself leaning against the switch. Ale gulps, blood draining from her face as he slowly approaches and tugs her in by the waist without a word. the silence is worse. she’d rather he make a scene in front of the cabbie, be sent to jail, kill her, anything. she watches his eyes glow red, intensely fixed on her own, and lets out shallow gasps as she follows him into the elevator and out into the atrium. biting her lip, she glances around at the buzzing crowd of employees and goes to make something up, but he fixes her with a dark look. 

“don’t bother,” he says flatly, and it’s almost a relief to hear him speak again, even though the person he flags down that they seem to be meeting is the spitting image of Draco Malfoy. that guy’s hair is almost more famous than his family’s history in pureblood supremacy, honestly. “Abraxas, thank you for meeting me,” Tom doesn’t introduce the man, weirdly not acknowledging Ale at all for the moment. 

“anytime, Tom,” replies Abraxas, practically grimacing. his eyes shift to Ale, and as if smelling her lack of magic, he turns up his nose. “who is this?” 

“your payment.” Ale stiffens in more fear than before, suddenly; even Voldemort was above trafficking, right? right? “follow him,” Tom mutters after Abraxas lifts a worn messenger bag and draws a scroll from inside. when Tom shoves Ale, she trips into Abraxas, and shivers in disgust. is Tom making her pleasure this man for a scroll? how dare she stay, if that’s the case? there’s no redeeming someone after they’ve done something like this. the blonde man guides her into the Auror department, and then into a sealed interrogation room with no mirror or cameras or windows. just brick. Tom stays in the atrium. 

Ale is holding back tears, ready to release the spells because fuck this, when Abraxas draws his wand and begins casting spells. torture spells. one after the other, with the unforgivables riddled in. all she can do is keep her head down and cry for fear of Abraxas realizing why his spells really aren’t working. though, she realizes at the same time, only a few actually join Voldemort’s spells to crush her. the others aren’t forceful enough to have any effect on a regular witch. Tom doesn’t say anything when they return and Ale not only doesn’t have a scratch on her, but also walks evenly across the atrium without seeming tortured. 

instead of stressing more on what she can’t do, Ale lays down back in the Leaky and tries to think of ways to stop Tom from becoming Voldemort. since he didn’t actually sell her body just for the hell of it, he does seem redeemable to a certain extent. he doesn’t appear to have killed anyone, though she isn’t entirely sure, as he did use the crucatious curse. that line of questioning leads to wondering what the red in his eyes indicates, which has no clear answer except anger, so far. she knows that some wizards and witches have glowing eyes, even if it’s rare, so she’s less creeped out by that. however, assuming that he’s only incidentally cruel for the time being, Ale has no clue how to shape reality to both save lives and ensure that she’s born to go back in time and do it. she’s lost in thought when Tom slips into their room without warning and sets some food on the desk. 

“it’s been two days. what’s the plan?” she wonders aloud when he makes no move to do anything else. it’s best that neither of them mention Abraxas Malfoy. 

“there are boats to the Netherlands, though the passengers are intended to travel the other direction. it won’t be entirely easy, and any old person could report us to the muggle police.” 

“the cabbie today told me to stop speaking Italian because it’s dangerous,” Tom schools his expression at the mention of Ale’s mistake, but otherwise takes her statement in stride. 

“Italy is in shambles, with half the muggles in concentration camps and the other half serving as guards,” he replies coolly and drags a hand through his hair. “he didn’t even know about the ethnic cleansing of the magical community. a shame, that is.” 

“you don’t think that,” Ale mutters, and Tom just works his jaw. 

“can you pretend to be English?” he asks. 

“i’ve gone to Hogwarts the last six years, so i should hope i picked something up,” Ale tries to imitate Cicely. it’s been months since she last spoke to the girl, but it doesn’t sound horrible. 

“i suppose it’ll work. i took the liberty of reading up on where we’ll be passing through,” his focused expression makes Ale’s heart race for no reason at all, “but we’ll have to stay at a few inns for the sake of appearing as regular travelers. i noticed you never removed your ring.” 

she looks down at her hand, stretching her fingers out in thought. she never thought to remove it for bathing or sleeping, as it did her no harm, and honestly, it’s beautiful. Ale glances at Tom’s hands, clasped elegantly. “you didn’t, either,” she contends, remembering their argument on the couch. it makes her blush, the thought, and the whole idea of being married- she’s still sixteen, she shouldn’t be able to. especially with Tom, she considers, it’s strange. 

“it benefited me in the last few days to tie myself to you, in a different way than i benefit from it from now on.” he’s so- Ale closes her eyes for a moment, pulse hammering, then sighs. 

“right.” she runs a hand through her hair and stares blankly out the window for a moment. she can’t keep going along with what he says, unless there’s some way to go full circle and return to her own time as it originally was. realistically, she doubts that possibility, but her heart aches for her friends. even Leonard, who hates her guts more than Tom sometimes. she misses her family, and misses her regular life of watching the Daily Prophet for the announcement that Granger is finally Minister for Magic and running through the Italian countryside in her spare time. Ale needs a way to get back, but the time turner in her pocket won’t solve the problem. if she uses it, she’s dead. maybe knowing more about a squib, being attracted to one in the strange way that Tom might be, will change him entirely? maybe he’ll never become Voldemort, but instead will be a musician, or something absurd. 

except that her parents met because Cornelius was running, and Valentina knew from what. if she somehow stops Tom from becoming a dark lord, will she never have existed to stop him? Ale’s head hurts. none of the books from even the restricted section suggested that time travelers remember the state of things after they’ve been changed, as it’s not recommended to change anything in the first place. how many people tried to stop Voldemort’s first rise to power when there were still time turners held at the Ministry? did Thaddeus try? 

are there details she doesn’t remember? 

Ale doesn’t fall asleep for a while, stressing over any details that might be important, and then the air raid sirens begin sounding just before the sun comes up. Tom lights a candle and shakes her shoulder, so she provides a tired confirmation that she’s aware of the situation, at least to some extent. “when are we leaving?” she adds. 

“two hours.” 

“i’m going back to sleep, then.” 

“fine,” Tom replies. he doesn’t look tired at all; he just sits at the desk and cracks open a book. Ale makes a face and rolls over. 

she wakes to him sitting by her hip on the mattress, and blinks away a fallen eyelash before taking in the image of him. she wasn’t certain before. maybe he hadn’t killed anyone. looking at him now, with his eyes glowing red and his hands caressing the same knife as the other night as though remembering the incident fondly, Ale finds it hard to see anything but a murderer. the man who would be Voldemort. the only way to return to the original timeline is for him to kill her. 

“is it time to go, Tom?”

his head jerks towards her- Voldemort’s lingering effects toss Ale’s organs around like a game, now, and she’s getting too used to it- eyes catching her own and darkening. “yes,” he agrees stiffly. 

“having second thoughts?” 

he doesn’t grace that with an answer; the Mary Poppins bag flies into his hands, and he Vanishes the knife while standing up. all Ale can do is follow him out just as silently. they sneak onto a rusted ferry, and then through the port on the other side of the English Channel. as promised, Tom checks them both into an inn just after the sun sets in Antwerp. he speaks Dutch to the innkeeper, imperfectly according to the man’s expression but passably according to the room they get. Ale wonders under her breath why they can’t be siblings when Tom opens the door and it’s a honeymoon suite. 

“having second thoughts?” Tom asks, mimicking her question from the morning, and sets about undressing. Ale’s heart seizes until he stops at his undershirt and shorts, not that it’s any better than nakedness. she doesn’t remove anything past her jacket and shoes, herself. “I told the innkeeper that our names are Farvald and Idunn Pospisil.” 

“are we German?” Ale asks to fill time, fluffing the pillows awkwardly. 

“Czechoslovakian,” comes the smooth answer as he thankfully puts on sleeping pants and untucks his shirt, looking strangely modern. “Farvald means leadership and power,” he explains proudly, “and Idunn means guardian of the immortal.” 

“you’re not immortal,” she mutters. 

“I will be,” Tom brags, sending a shiver of fear down Ale’s spine. Harry Potter made it pretty clear that his methods were faulty and ended up destroying him. she blinks back guilty tears, lost between having control over Tom and Tom having control over Ale. she remembers telling him about her family, but she can’t remember how old her brother is supposed to be. dread settles in the pit of her stomach uncomfortably while she tries to sleep only two feet away from the man who would kill her if he knew anything more. there isn’t a couch for him to stay on, this time. 

they take the train from Antwerp through Brussels and step off in Liege just before they start asking for passports to enter Germany, and then they’re out in farmland and forest just before nightfall. Ale watches Tom carefully, handing off the bag for his shift, and wishes they could at least have bikes, but it doesn’t look likely. her stomach twists with his promise from London that he’ll squeeze the desired information from her as they travel. 

“are we walking through the night?” she asks, breaking the sounds of waking creatures around them. “there’s no inns around.” 

“the muggle German army marched past Mont Rigi, and likely left some shelters of their own for us to stay in. no one will approach.” Ale nods. “tell me more about your blood.” she chokes. “blood status.” 

“mia madre is entirely magical, grew up barely knowing babbanos existed,” Ale stutters, explaining the Italian variant of muggle when Tom raises a brow. “my dad’s from Hoxton,” she receives a sharp look, “but his parents may have been Druids. he hasn’t found record of them yet, and at this point,” she pauses, wonders if maybe he did, doesn’t remember, and continues, “i think he’s stopped trying. he was never adopted, so he just doesn’t have parental figures. it’s why he ran: there was no one to protect him from the second war.” 

“so you are pureblooded?” 

Ale scoffs, hands shaking, “no one should be. I can’t call myself it.” 

Tom frowns and shifts the bag from shoulder to shoulder in thought; if he doesn’t ask anything too specific, she might be able to stop him from hurting anyone else, but it’s far from likely, so far from likely. he can’t know she’s a squib until he’s ready to refrain from killing them all. “in your time, after Voldemort’s supposed defeat, it’s shameful to be a pureblood?” 

“it’s shameful to call yourself something that represents genocide, Tom, that’s like walking into London with a damned Nazi flag just because your granddad was German,” she snaps. “no one with common sense looks up to a murderer, and no one with common sense wants to marry their cousin, i’m sorry, not anymore, that’s messed up, and it hurts people.” 

Tom is quiet as they continue towards the abandoned German camp he finally spotted in the distance. “do wizards marry muggles for the purpose of-“ 

“Merlin’s balls,” Ale mutters quickly. “i’m no politician, but i’m pretty sure there’s more to purebloods than you seem to think.” 

“keep talking like that, and you won’t have to worry, Alessandra.” 

she just rolls her eyes. that’s the last thing he’s worried about, and they both know. though, Ale has no clue what he’s really thinking, when it comes down to it. she asks him again quietly what he’s looking for in Italy, but that ends the conversation entirely; they reach the camp a tense hour later and set up in one of the remaining tents. 

“i’ll take first watch,” she offers once they’ve eaten, and strangely, Tom just nods and crawls under his own blanket to sleep. it’s an uneventful night, of course, except for Ale’s fear and apprehension of being interrogated again like in London. she needs guidance, either from her old friends, or Lewis and Thaddeus, or her parents, or Harry Potter, or anyone, really. but she doesn’t have that chance. when she wakes Tom to the rising sun, his brows fall in a determined frown. 

“explain to me why you missed the Floo.” 

Ale jumps, spilling water on her chin. he just knows how to sneak around when she’s trying to watch birds to calm herself down. the easiest way to be done with it is to be honest, so she answers, “i can’t.” 

“you can’t tell me?” the knife doesn’t make an appearance, but he brings out his wand to cast more defenses around the part of the camp they claimed. “you will.” 

“it isn’t relevant to what you want to know.” 

“Alessandra, you don’t know what i want,” Tom scoffs, walking leisurely back towards the tent. she doesn’t follow, but she does watch him carefully. this isn’t as bad as facing Voldemort, and he’s only threatening violence, but Ale needs to turn the conversation. 

“tell me what you want, then. I know Voldemort was a pureblood supremacist, politically, but that makes a social pariah in my time. what makes you think the way that you do?” maybe she can listen to him and spot a hole in his logic. she’s hardly an academic, but she has to try if she wants to live. or if she wants a lot of other people to live. the one thing she does know is that pureblood supremacy is bullshit and Voldemort was mortal. Tom is mortal. 

“you wouldn’t understand, then,” he starts, almost sounding like that’s the last of it, but this is Tom. “how the muggles have treated us for millenia. it’s high time they got a taste of their own poison; merlin, Alessandra, do you see the war? they’re monsters. I was raised by them, attacked for being different, chained up and beaten because I dared look at them. you wouldn’t understand,” he spits, suddenly looming over Ale with glowing scarlet eyes. “you don’t know them like I do. they live out in the open, without a care, while we hide instead of standing up for ourselves. not all of us live in a secluded utopia after school lets out; I have to face the real world and act like I couldn’t level a city block if I wanted.” 

Ale drags in a slow breath and shudders it out, knowing the feeling of wanting to release all that power. intimately. because of his future self, now. what does she say to that? he hasn’t experienced any kindness from a muggle, and can’t be convinced that any good people exist. “I hear you, Tom.” 

“do you?” he asks, lips holding the ghost of his words for a moment before he steps away. “what is it that you hear?” 

“you want power, tangible power. you don’t want to hide.” merlin, she’s making him sound like a gay politician; somehow, she doubts he is. “but how- other than the obvious world domination plot- how will you reach the power you want?” 

“you didn’t hear everything, then,” Tom remarks, flipping the knife absently between his hands before drawing back and throwing it smoothly into the trunk of a tree on the edge of the camp. “all I want is to destroy the muggles. all of them.” 

“cosa diavolo!” 

“don’t be so shrill, Alessandra,” he admonishes. Ale glares at the knife with wide eyes and flexes her fingers. she has to be clear, concise, channel Cornelius, Tom Riddle is mortal. 

“let’s say you succeed, no?” she finally suggests, turning back to him and letting her hands fall from where she spun and smacked herself in the face in reaction to his statement. “what then, you live out your days watching wizards become more and more inbred until they all eventually die out, and someone else inherits the earth?” 

“we could all be immortal.” 

“to what end?” Ale groans. “a secluded utopia while the rest of the earth is overrun by various magical and non-magical creatures? you’re really planning the demise of humanity, here.” 

“you’re so shallow; there’s enough purebloods in the world to populate the earth to the extent that muggles have.” 

“assuming all purebloods survive your journey to world domination and go along with your plan, no. you’re right, they’re a minority, globally,” she can agree with him on that, especially because that makes it seem like they’re not arguing so much as working out a problem. “so your plan, if it worked, wouldn’t- work.” 

“got a better idea?” 

yeah, literally anything else. try not committing mass genocide. don’t discriminate against magical minorities. “put away the intent to kill, the wish for revenge,” she tries, instead of voicing what she really thinks. “manifest your yearning for power by establishing yourself in high social circles.” to be honest, Ale can see many fawning over posters of the latest Tom Riddle movie. “go into a stable career that benefits you, stop giving a shit about the rest of the world, and especially stop thinking that everyone wants what you want.” he can, only in theory, do anything he wants. a talented young bachelor has its own spot in magical hierarchy, regardless of the era. Teddy Lupin may be pursuing a modelling career as a metamorphmagus back in Ale’s time. 

“how charming of you. I suppose we’ll find out when we reach our destination whether you have any clue what you’re talking about.” it feels like a win. it might be a win. Ale breathes fresh air and basks in the small victory, if it even is one. “however-“ 

“merlin, let me live,” she mutters, lip curling in frustration. 

“- don’t convince yourself that i haven’t already laid plans to achieve what i’ve already expressed. one day, you’ll see it my way.” 

Ale sneers at him, but he goes into the tent without another word and pretty much ignores her for the rest of the morning. he seems busy digging through books that appear out of nowhere. since it’s at least nice outside for Belgian spring, Ale keeps watch and bursts into the tent at the first sign of the Germans returning. it’s clearly not a triumphant march, and she remarks as such to Tom as he transfigures a bowl into the sort of telescope pirates use and stalks outside without acknowledging her much. 

“are they headed this direction?” she asks. Tom continues looking for another moment. 

“based on what I know of muggle war, they’ll have scouts. we can’t leave. they may stay here tonight, or they may just pass through. we are in Grindelwald’s territory now, not that apparation was ever an option,” he replies, which gives Ale pause. she has always preferred the Floo over apparation because of her abilities, but Tom isn’t restricted in such a manner, and according to Lewis, he’s seventeen. and then she starts to wonder if she’s seventeen. 

“why?” she can’t help but ask. 

“because you said so.” 

Ale frowns at him as he begins disguising their surroundings as uninhabitable to ward the muggles away in case they decide to camp out. who’s really in charge here, if he does even the smallest thing to her liking? it’s weird. Ale startles- she can use that odd detail, the off chance that he listens to her, to the advantage of millions! why is she so distracted trying to figure him out when she could be saving lives? maybe it is better they’re alone, so she has a million opportunities to sway him into having morals, but it doesn’t do much for Ale’s own mental stability. he’s rubbing off on her just as much as she may be rubbing off on him.

the Nazis arrive and make camp, mostly quiet and exhausted but occasionally rowdy in the way that Ale has seen muggle soldiers act in movies and on television. she stands at the entrance to the tent, not wanting to approach the line Tom drew in the dirt. it’s disgusting, how they don’t appear to be considering the millions they killed. 

“I heard Nazis are making a comeback across the pond, in my time.” 

“in what manner?” Tom asks, coming up behind Ale with a book clearly not in English. his brow twitches when he looks up and sees her staring at it. 

“not magical, that’s for damn sure. Voldemort’s a little fresh for everyone over the age of ten, even over there,” and when he perks up again from his book, she shakes her head and leans further into the tentpost. “he didn’t.” 

“you know I’m Voldemort, right,” Tom laughs suddenly, eyes glowing just slightly. Ale bites her lip and goes back to glaring at the Nazis. 

“if you were, I’d have killed you a while ago, Tom.” it’s a lie, and everything is so confusing, but the spells say that he clearly is the same person who cast them. the same source. they lurch when he straightens and gives her a once-over before going back to the one couch in the tent. or maybe that’s her stomach. no, it’s both. Ale just hugs herself like that’ll keep the weight of magic away and tries to punch the soldiers outside with her eyes. 

“what’s your problem with them, anyways? they’re all drafted,” Tom interrupts, still scanning the foreign book. Ale scoffs. 

“complacency is just as bad as activity, and they are both complacent in being drafted and active in doing their jobs, so,” she punches her palm loudly. 

“these men didn’t hurt any Italians.” 

“you don’t have a personality disorder, Tom, stop pretending like you can’t see that other people are also people,” Ale snaps, hoping she’s right. Tom has no idea what she’s talking about, of course, so she starts explaining how much better mind healing got when it was acknowledged as legitimate a few years ago. a few years ago for Ale, at least. “my brother has anxiety, but he’s had to see a muggle psychiatrist for years, and he can’t tell them anything substantial about his life because we don’t get out much.” 

“so you see-“ 

“that’s irrelevant,” Ale nearly whines, but tones down her frustration in the name of dignity at the last second. 

“okay, well, what’s a personality disorder?” 

he’s curious? how curious that is. “a deeply ingrained specific way of thinking that lasts over time, like if someone thinks everyone’s out to get them and will never be convinced otherwise.” sue Ale for listening to Gio every once in a while. seriously, sue her. that kid’s a nerd. 

“you think i can be convinced?” 

“bigotry isn’t a personality, and like i said-“ 

“you wouldn’t kill me, Alessandra, you haven’t got it in you.” 

“you’d be surprised, then.” 

it’s just the spells, the damned spells. what’s Gio’s full name again? why did he even come up? she doesn’t remember him talking about mind healing. where did she learn all that? Ale rubs at her face and goes to bed. Tom paces for a while, but his protections hold up while the soldiers wind down. in the morning, Ale wakes to the stench of something foul. Tom has a cup of tea shoved under his nose to chase it away, but from his expression, that doesn’t do much. it’s not from inside the tent, then. 

“it seems not all the soldiers left at dawn, as there are still a few rotting corpses outside,” he explains, so they pack up quickly and hurry out of there on a different path from the one the army took to arrive. from Belgium they hike through Luxembourg to war-torn France. an owl nearly smacks Ale in the face as they walk up to a tavern in Entrange. “graceful,” Tom mutters. 

Ale makes a face at him and lets the owl dig in to her arm for a perch while she reads the letter. “Alessandra, the war is over. you should probably come back to Hogwarts, unless you want to live in Italy, and that’s okay, but we’ll miss you. from Lewis and Thaddeus.” 

“Accent, Idunn,” Tom admonishes, taking the owl from her and setting it on a broken cart. “tell them you’re going through with your original plan to bring your brother back to Britain. besides, the muggles may be done, but that doesn’t say anything about our side of things.” it takes everything not to roll her eyes at his short tone, but the mention of Gio makes it a million times easier because if Tom touches a hair on Giovanni Valentino Pagano’s head- 

“i’ll need a pencil, then,” Ale stiffly tells him in her best imitation of Cicely, turning over the parchment already. Tom’s lips turn up a bit, and then he leisurely makes his way inside the tavern. 

the weird thing about having Voldemort’s spells- so many of them, so violent- is that she can sort of infer what Tom is doing sometimes. they move with him, and pull her towards him, and have an innate need to destroy. she knows when he’s moving in her peripheral view, even when she can’t actually see him. so it worries her a bit when he actually uses magic inside the tavern. 

“Ida,” Tom greets her, handing over an artist’s charcoal pencil. it does the job, at least. 

“Farvald and Idunn too eastern?” Ale asks quietly. “what do i call you?” 

“Waldo.” 

Ale laughs, despite her best attempt at self control. clearly, Tom doesn’t agree with her reaction, because he rolls his eyes and makes to take the parchment. 

“hey!” Ale snaps. “i’ve a letter to write,” she articulates, and gestures back to the tavern to shoo him with no luck. 

“then write,” he practically snarls. “honestly, if you take any longer to tell them to lay off, i’ll have to lay them off.” 

“no!” Ale hisses, gritting her teeth. Tom’s eyes glow. 

“found a place here, have you?” he murmurs, stepping closer so any passerby couldn’t hear. “how does that work, then, if you think of Thaddeus as a brother and his brother figure as more?” 

Ale is this close to shoving him again like she did back at Hogwarts, because how stupid and misogynistic is he, but he steps away too quick and disappears into the tavern before she can shout after him. groaning, she just scribbles an apology and sends the owl away with a scrap of lunch from her pocket. Dippet was weirdly well prepared. when Ale finally finds Tom inside and sits across from him, she realizes two things. 

first, “you’re just jealous i have friends.” second, “also, this place doesn’t have any food. it barely has walls.” 

“be patient, Ida,” he emphasizes. Ale bites her lip at the slip of accent- it’s pretty damn hard to remember that detail. “and have some dignity.” 

“that’s hardly a disagreement,” she points out, accent correct this time, and he only has time to roll his eyes and lay his left hand palm-up on the table before a waitress steps up. Ale is already interlocking their fingers before she realizes that it’s an act. so much is left over from when they pretended to be friends at Hogwarts, and now she’s just going off muscle memory. everything’s fine and weird and then the waitress opens her mouth and speaks French. 

Tom catches her clearly confused expression and gives her an “honestly, what did you expect,” eyebrow. of course he speaks French right back. and then she feels the pull of him using magic again, and her arm pulls his fingers to her lips of its own accord. when she makes contact, she freezes, and looks over at Tom, who’s just staring. staring with a barely contained scarlet glow and with puckered candy lips on the verge of speaking. he doesn’t say a word. 

Ale puts his hand down and pretends it never happened while he finishes making their order. neither of them let go, but Ale keeps her eyes down and nearly closed while Tom very obviously continues watching her. 

there is an inn with space after over an hour of asking around and suggesting that they ran from home or that Ale is pregnant or that they’re both filthy rich, none of which work. Ale’s kind of glad she doesn’t have to act weird while they make their way up to the last room. it has only one twin-size bed, a desk without drawers, and two pots in the corner. one empty, one full of water. 

“oh, Merlin,” Ale tries not to gag. it’s not as bad as the Nazis, but it’s pretty bad. 

“contain yourself,” Tom tells her, but his eyes are bright and hot rod red. she doesn’t mention it. 

“can you at least fix the bed?” unfortunately, this seems like a better idea than calling out his hypocrisy, but it really isn’t. it really, really isn’t. Ale knows right away she’s made a mistake, because his eyes glow brighter and the spells jump and he fixes her with a death glare. 

“why can’t you?” he asks, voice an octave lower than usual. it sends chills down Ale’s spine and fear right back up. 

shit. 

“it was just-“ 

“you haven’t done anything since we left,” he realizes, tilting his head slightly and advancing on Ale quickly in the small space. 

“it’s not-“ 

he casts a silencing spell on the room. “you barely did any magic when we were at school.” 

“Tom,” she tries to start, but between the corner of the desk and him only inches away, words fail her. 

“you’re a fake, aren’t you?” he hisses, nearly falling into Voldemort’s voice. 

“Tom, no!” Ale snaps, gripping his shirt close to the collar and pulling him closer like that’ll shock him into stopping. 

he does pause, and blink, and his pupils blow wide but the light doesn’t cease. his eyelids fall and he puts his wand away. “maybe i am stupid, if it took me this long to realize.” 

he isn’t that distracted. Ale needs him to forget; she tugs him closer, mind cycling through useless ideas- the spells jump and then go eerily still- 

warm breath from too close spreads over Ale’s mouth. she scans Tom’s face, watches him wet his own lips, and can’t contain her surprise when he lets his eyes fall closed and seals the short distance between their lips. 

he’s warm, scalding, and bumps his nose against her cheek and his hands against her waist so she leans further against the desk. Ale squeezes her eyes shut and breathes in sharply, Tom and magic and electricity suddenly taking over any fear or even thought of Voldemort. he pulls back for just a moment to breathe. 

“Tom-“ he drinks his own name from her mouth and rolls her lip between his teeth and presses his pout closer, closer. his jaw works as he does. Ale tugs on his shirt again and his thighs run into her lifted knees because she’s on the desk, now, even though it looked like it could barely hold a book. 

Tom pulls her by the waist to the edge of the desk so her knees are spread and they’re chest to chest; thigh to thigh; lip never parted from lip. and then, slowly, like he can’t let go, he breaks to lean his temple against her own in a messed up reprise of when he first threatened her at Hogwarts. 

air isn’t enough for Ale, nor seemingly for Tom. she gasps and gasps, but nothing makes up for the metaphorical sucker punch she was just delivered. her fingers are frozen and her jaw keeps working. 

“you’re a squib,” he breathes, voice broken but not from screaming. Ale swallows spit and doesn’t say anything. “i’ve seen you do magic before, but there’s no way you’re not a squib.” still, she doesn’t say anything. she bites her lip, sore as it is, and he kisses her again, and then again, and then once more. 

“are you going to kill me?” Ale wonders, after several minutes of just catching her breath. 

Tom hesitates. she closes her eyes. “i can’t, Alessandra.” she doesn’t ask why; she may be stupid, but she isn’t Ravenclaw levels of stupid. 

Tom kisses her four more times as they change into pajamas and lay down on the cramped bed. the solution the come up with is for Ale to lay on Tom’s chest with their feet and shins hanging off the end of the short mattress. he kisses the corner of her mouth one last time before closing his eyes to sleep. Ale is so exhausted from all the hiking and excitement, she stops caring and just passes out. 

soft fingertips tracing her collarbones wake Ale. she realizes but doesn’t care much that she pressed herself between Tom’s shoulder and the wall sometime in the night. clearly, he doesn’t work for a living; his touch is softer than a cloud and his eyes remain closed. there must be some sign, though, that she’s awake, because he stops and blinks into a dull gaze. 

“Tom,” she says dumbly. 

“your bruise is gone, but i still see it,” he replies with a flash of teeth. Ale feels drowsy despite the sleep. “i’ll never become that.” 

Ale pauses to frown at him. “two days ago, you wanted to end humanity.” 

“my plan,” he flashes his canines again, and this time his eyes flash, too, in the literal sense. “hasn’t changed. i’m not stupid enough to think that abominations like you don’t happen in pureblood families.“ 

“testa di cazzo,” Ale snaps, shoving him this time. he doesn’t fall, but instead springs back and looms over her. “eat shit,” she continues, seething. 

and she kissed him! 

“just think of those diseases you spoke of back on Mont Rigi. you can’t change my mind, Alessandra, even if you have,” he dips down to nip at Ale’s jaw as she jerks away in vain, “seduced me,” he finishes, voice low. 

“don’t put that on me,” Ale snarls, shoving him again. how could he think she’d be okay to keep kissing him while he insults her very existence? how? and diseases, “you don’t have a personality disorder, Tom, you’ve shown a deep understanding and care of social cues before; that fact that you won’t try to kill me anymore says a lot.” 

“you misunderstood,” Tom informs her quickly, looking for a moment as if she did understand correctly. he gets up and starts getting dressed. “i can’t kill you until we reach our destination.” 

“i-“ he walks out while Ale struggles to untangle herself from the thin blanket they had to retrieve from the Mary Poppins bag. “maybe he does have a personality disorder,” she mutters to herself in Italian. Voldemort’s effect on her throat is gone, and the spells feel more and more like they’re actually Tom’s as the days pass. Tom seems more and more like Voldemort as the days pass. 

she can’t let that happen. 

they take a train to Lyon after a day’s hike in both smug and pissed off silence. it makes her want to travel the world with someone she actually likes one day. they reach the Alps after sneaking across yet another border, and then begin the trek up into the mountains because the roads Ale is used to aren’t there yet. the muggles still stare at the huge mountains and don’t consider them tourist attractions to the extent of Ale’s time, she supposes. and then another problem arises. 

Tom can set heating charms on the tent to keep her warm at night, but he can’t do anything during the day, especially when he keeps casting them at her nose. and he does keep casting them as they ascend into the snowcaps. the new spells jostle the old ones, and press into her skin with every step. an ache attacks her bones between the cold and the magic. 

“stop trying to dodge my spells, Alessandra,” he admonishes, because she is trying. 

“stop using magic on me, Tom,” she replies, but it’s barely intelligible between the wind and Ale’s pained groan of a weak voice. Tom casts a few more spells on her, each more intense than the last, causing everything to weigh her down even more, and she falls to her knees, and then Voldemort’s spells spring to the surface. “no!” she yells instinctively. killing Tom? ending his life, so abruptly, right here in the middle of nowhere? “back away, Tom!” she continues. the spells pulse and crest. 

they’ve never felt like this before. there’s so much pushing at her from all sides, more than when they were new. it’s too much. she needs to let go. 

“miss Pagano!” that isn’t Tom. 

if she lets go, they both die. not only in the immediate sense, but also, Ale would cease to exist if Voldemort never chased Cornelius out of London. 

a hand hovers near her waist, but doesn’t touch her. Tom, when she jerks to look up. “Alessandra, what did you do?” 

“quit blaming things on-“ Ale stops to groan when his hand presses against her side, probably light to him but it sets the spells on fire- “Tom, you need to back away, or you’ll die.” 

“i can fix it, just tell me what you did.” 

“it’s not my fault!” Ale shouts, as Tom holds her up, and he must feel his own magic. there’s no way he doesn’t. 

he jerks his head as a pop sounds from a few feet away, and the spells jerk with him, and Ale grips his arm before she thinks. 

“stop, Tom, stop, please-“ she doesn’t know what she’s asking. “you need to get out of here,” she leans over to hiss in his ear. “you need to go.” 

Tom doesn’t leave. he casts another spell, not on Ale but it feels like a punch to the gut, and kisses her. “i can’t,” he tells her lips, over and over again. the spell shatters- is shattered, by someone else, and Ale feels it. she tries to shove Tom away so he knows he has to go, tries to tell him again to leave, and then someone pulls her away from him and through a straw. 

Ale is numb when she wakes up in Hogwarts’ hospital wing. she isn’t any different, but she feels sick. Dumbledore is at her side, eyes sparkling. 

“it’s time for you to return home, miss Pagano.” he took her from the Alps. did he bring Voldemort’s spells to the surface, too? “your friends told me everything. they were worried mister Riddle was going to hurt you. what i saw when i tracked you down only confirmed their fears.” 

“it wasn’t his fault,” she slurs. 

“i’ve been told information i never thought possible that suggests that it was indeed his fault, miss Pagano. for your safety, i brought you back to Hogwarts for some rest before you return to your own time.” 

so Dumbledore knows a bunch of stuff. so what? he can’t force her anywhere but Azkaban. besides, Tom was the one in danger, and still is, if he’s still in the Alps on his own. he may be powerful, but nature runs undefeated. Dumbledore sets something in her hand. the time turner she gave to Thaddeus. 

“can i say goodbye?” she asks, not to Dumbledore’s surprise. he shakes his head. 

“this world as it is now creates yours. it’s safe to return, but if you do anything else, it may not be,” he tells her with a sad smile, eyes still sparkling. Ale looks down at the inscription. “they told me you’re a squib; i see you deflect.” 

“what tells you that, sir?” Ale asks suddenly, remembering what Tom said about Legilimency. he and Dumbledore are exceedingly powerful. 

“your friends knew.” 

Ale squeezes the time turner with a glare. they didn’t know. 

when she blinks awake, having gotten sick and then passed out from the magic, Harry Potter and Poppy Pomfrey are leaning over her with frowns. at least Pomfrey knows about her imperviousness. Harry Potter is there, Ale supposes, just because chaos calls him. and also because she spots teal hair in her peripheral. the man asks what happened, and before Ale can stop herself, she laughs. Dumbledore was actually right. 

“perhaps she needs more rest before she answers any questions,” Pomfrey suggests. 

“oh, no, that won’t be necessary, madam. i’m afraid i can only discuss it with Professor Potter, however.” 

“you’ve been missing for months, Alessandra, don’t you think anyone wants to know why?” the matron demands, but seals the curtains. 

“why me?” Potter wonders, leaning back in his chair. “like she said, your family’s worried about you.”

“you knew Voldemort.” she doesn’t tell him anything close to the full truth of course, but manages to metaphorically spit on Dumbledore’s grave a few times and suggest that Tom Riddle was on the path to a normal life when she left. clearly, he turned around and went on with his plans to become Voldemort, so she needs to go back and help. sure, she could live out her life like this, but some part of her hears Tom saying that he can’t leave her. “i told him a lot about his eventual failures for him to just go on and do the same thing, it’s weird. and when i last tried to return to the present, he had taken my exit and tried to kill everyone remotely associated with me.” 

“Dumbledore could be blamed this time, probably,” Potter finally says. “you’ve been through quite a lot, Alessandra, but i don’t think you should return to that time if you can help it. i won’t report you to the Ministry, but i probably should; it’s dangerous to mess with time, not to mention illegal, and you’re lucky things fell into place for your return, because you could have died.” 

Ale bites her lip and nods. “i need a favor,” she tells him as he stands, “no one can know.” 

“what is it?” 

“i have a certain ability that allows me to hold spells for later use, despite not being magic myself. it makes me impervious,” she explains, looking down at her hands. they shake. “if i let any of the spells i have go, they’ll all go, and cause untold destruction.” 

“i’ll look for a way to help you,” Potter nods, and goes to leave, but Ale shakes her head. 

“i can’t face my family like this. i nearly killed Tom, i can’t hurt them.” 

Potter leaves with one last frown. she misses Tom, she can’t help it, in a weird way that she wishes he didn’t want to hurt anyone so they could just rest together and hold each other forever. Ale frowns. life just won’t allow it. he has- had- wishes, hopes, dreams, all violent. he hadn’t yet accepted the truth of her words; maybe that was it. he had to have known, though, at the end. nervously, she twists the ring that still rests on her finger, now filthy. it makes her angry, what Dumbledore did, but she can’t afford to be angry right now. she takes a deep breath and waits. 

“come on,” Potter hisses, wrapping a cloak around Ale as if that’ll conceal her. he helps her up, then throws the hood over her head and whispers to poke him if anything goes wrong. “it’s an Invisibility Cloak, a family heirloom. try not to step on it.” Harry Potter is a strange man, Ale muses. they walk to the forest outside, even though Ale has had about enough of walking everywhere by now, and then stop in a dusty clearing where Potter asks for the cloak back. “Firenze,” he calls. 

“the one you seek is away; my name is Midedon,” responds a deep voice. the source is a centaur, to Ale’s surprise. frankly, she doesn’t know the first thing about them. “you’ll need to legally bind yourself to centaurs as a species if you wish to enter our land,” he continues, elegantly stepping out into the morning sun with medium skin and inky long hair but striking yellow eyes. 

“i’ve already sworn loyalty to goblins,” Ale decides to point out. 

“let us hope that centaurs and goblins don’t disagree on anything while you remain alive, as you won’t be alive very long if you continue on like this.” 

bullshit. “what are you talking about?” 

“they weigh on you because it isn’t natural. eventually, you’ll be so tired, you’ll never wake up again.” she sighs and asks where she needs to sign, and they follow the centaur through the hollow of a massive tree. inside, there’s a different world with a green sky and blue dirt. the building they enter is spacious enough for a horse to walk leisurely and yet cluttered with books and trinkets. Potter smiles, relaxed, clearly having forgotten the reason for their visit. they keep following until another centaur, feminine, comes into view with her hands at her- hips? shoulders? 

“Midedon, you can’t be serious.” 

“they need help!” Midedon shrugs, voice suddenly high. “this is Melene, my partner. we have a way to remove your spells, but it will be painful.” 

it is painful, and terrible, and Ale would rather be in the Alps alone causing an avalanche and a landslide than be staring Harry Potter in the face and crying pitifully. it goes on for hours- the wizard never interjects, even as she’s stabbed over and over again in the temple and her hands. the centaurs circle her and catch the flying attacks that Ale just can’t hold on to anymore. she screams for almost the entire time, feeling like her skin is being peeled away from her bones and like the very shreds of her soul are being separated. with one final shout, the process ends and Ale promptly passes out. 

she’s back in Hogwarts when she comes to, breathing freely and without the weight of magic for the first time in a long time. she sighs, and sinks into the mattress that feels soft for absolutely no reason. “i’ll take that as an ‘it worked’?” Potter asks from her bedside. Ale nods and thanks him, more grateful than he might be able to comprehend or than she might be able to show. “your brother’s outside, and your parents are on their way. remember, you’ve been missing for months.” 

Gio runs in just as Harry Potter leaves, and instantly, they both start sobbing; it’s been just as long and rough for the little one as it has been for Ale. she missed her brother, in a way that Thaddeus couldn’t make up for. she feels terrible for leaving both of them. Lewis, too. just like that, she’s lost and gained everything. “oh, sister, I thought I lost you! I thought you left me!” her baby brother sobs, completely forgoing English in favor of Italian. Ale just keeps hugging him and crying. 

“I love you,” she whispers, wondering how she ever thought she missed Tom, wondering how she ever resented Dumbledore for sending her back. a big sister needs her little brother. “i never wanted to leave you, Gio, and I never want to leave you again.” 

“where were you? what happened?” he begs, bringing his head back, and oh, Ale cries, he’s such a mess, covered in snot and tears and bruises. 

“i was sent to the past, and it took a very long time to return because time isn’t to be messed with,” she summarizes, pulling him back to her as he cries. “i tried, but every time i returned, you weren’t here, and i couldn’t have that.” stretching the truth will make him feel better, she tells herself. he cries more, but only Ale will ever know what really happened. 

“why?”

“everything we do changes something for the future. i had to set everything up for it to be my future and not anyone else’s.”

her parents appear, and then they’re all sobbing into each other’s shirts, and Ale doesn’t know how she went so long without her family. her friends come in when her family is at dinner, and the same thing happens; even Leonard sighs in relief when she hugs him, and Joyce leaps onto the cot with a shriek. Cicely and Unice are in shock, hands interlocked, tears streaming down their faces, and Ale doesn’t know how she even has the tears left to apologize. 

“so much happened when you were gone,” Unice whispers, arm around a sobbing Cicely. “we missed you, Alé.” 

“no one’s called me that since i saw you guys last,” Ale sighs, and leans against Joyce, who has settled against the headboard. Leonard rubs her feet through the blanket, and Joyce runs their hands through Ale’s hair, and Unice clasps her and Cicely’s hands around Ale’s. she doesn’t know how she lived without her friends for so long. so, so long. 

McGonagall is a sight for sore eyes, too, and the longer Ale is in her own time, the more awake she feels. except that then the old woman pauses their talk on which classes Ale should take to catch up and looks over at the portraits of previous headmasters. “Albus Dumbledore wanted to speak with you about your time missing. Potter informed me that he believes you shouldn’t be punished for what you’ve been through, so I’ll leave the room.” Ale frowns and scans the wall for the famous professor. 

“over here. I’m sure you have some questions.” she blinks at the man when she spots him, old and wise looking like how he’s advertised. “about why i brought you back, what happened after you left.” 

“I’m happy to be back,” Ale argues, but weakly; “why did it have to end like that?” 

“Mister Riddle was on his way to becoming Lord Voldemort, as you knew. any longer out in the wilderness with him and you could have died.” 

“why was that the moment? how did you know?” the more she asks, the more she finds breaks in the wizard’s story. “you read Thaddeus and Lewis’ minds to find out who i am, who Tom was, but how did you know that i’d be sent back to my present if you brought me back at that moment?” 

“how clever you are, Miss Pagano. i deduced from the information your friends told me that your future wasn’t formed when you tried to leave, and that you were able to return. therefore, if you left when i told you to and it didn’t form your present, i believed you would return to try again.” 

“Potter said it may have been because of you. Professor, allow me to say outright that i don’t like you,” Ale states, and runs a hand through her hair. 

“how silly,” Dumbledore smiles, “as I am a portrait, and not a person. the true Dumbledore knew that you’d want this information one day, and gave it to me. i can’t encourage you to mess with his grave, however.” a joke. great, she groans. 

“did he tell you how he knew i deflect?” Ale demands of the portrait, but he just shakes his head with a static smile. “okay. what did Tom Riddle do after I left?” 

“why, become Lord Voldemort, of course.” 

Ale dreams in her Hufflepuff dorm of the Slytherin common room, of the tent, of the inns, of Tom. compared to Cicely, on a dare, Tom’s kisses weren’t sweet or nervous. they were more impulsive and powerful and intense. searing. she’s so happy to be with her friends and family, but she goes to Hogsmeade for lunch for Gio and Cornelius and pauses at a memorial. 

“when did you travel to, sister?” Gio asks, speaking more Italian than English, these days. 

“I was there,” she admits, reaching out to run her fingertips along the names. 

“did you meet him?” Cornelius suddenly asks, and Ale flinches, Voldemort flashing behind her eyelids, “Lewis Morrow.” oh. “i’m sorry, Alessa.” 

it’s so comforting to hear the nickname again, but, “he,” she trails off. how does she describe Lewis? 

“did he give you the ring?” she told Gio it was for a disguise, but that someone she cared about had given it to her. someone she couldn’t name. “sorry. I know you can’t tell me.” Harry Potter steps out of the candy shop across the way and catches Ale’s eye. he must see something interesting in her expression, because he approaches. 

“miss Pagano, misters Pagano, good afternoon.” 

“Professor,” Cornelius nods. 

“you seem interested in the raid memorial,” Potter comments. Ale bites her cheek and pulls back her hand, kicks the brick under her feet. “a lot of good witches and wizards were lost to mindless killing in the war.” 

“thank you for your service, Professor,” Cornelius recites, as many do, but Potter sends it right back at him as if the man has stood beside him in the Battle of Hogwarts. “do you know anything about this particular memorial?” 

“of course,” Potter nods, glancing over the plaque. “these people were attacked in Hogsmeade during the first war, actually, so we dug through the Prophet to find this list. many died from smoke inhalation, as anti-apparition wards were set. by who, we can only imagine.” they were trapped? Ale gasps. gassed? Potter frowns, but Cornelius speaks first. 

“Alessa, love, they’re at rest, now.” 

“nothing could be done,” Potter blurts anyways, which just makes Ale’s stomach drop to the floor as she imagines Lewis, looking up at the castle and begging for help, probably later in years by muggle standards, putting someone else before himself like he always did. she sits and sees Voldemort’s face in the cloudy sky. “i’m sorry.” 

“everyone’s sorry,” Ale mutters, as Gio crouches to her level. “but i could have done something.” 

“don’t,” Potter orders quickly, suddenly jumpy. “the past is the past. you’ll never have peace if you want it to be perfect.” 

Gio meets Ale’s gaze. “you’re here now,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like it. Ale feels like she’s in the forties again, leaning tiredly on a lamppost while Thaddeus shrieks with joy and Lewis runs up to push snow down his shirt. she’s in the nineties, held by Voldemort two feet in the air, spells weighing her down more than her physical frame is. she’s in France, in London, in Belgium. the engraved time turner is in her pocket. 

she stays, though, for two weeks after her return to the present. Valentina finally visits again, and they apparate to a riverside muggle town for dinner. 

“so your ability was removed,” Ale’s mother starts as they wait for a table. she was the first to notice Ale’s immunity, the second being her own mother. “did you get anything back?” 

“no,” Ale tells her. she hums. “i needed some time, though.” 

“i understand, Alessandra, but you must be able to defend yourself. especially if you still have that pocket watch.” 

Ale blinks, and shakes her head, but Valentina reaches into Ale’s jacket pocket and pulls it out to inspect it. “mama-“ 

“it’s okay, Alessandra,” Valentina tells her, quieter than Ale has ever heard her mother speak. “we all live with guilt. not all of us can just erase it like this.” 

“i am happy to be here,” Ale insists as they sit down. “i’ve missed everyone, you must know that.” 

“i do,” Valentina smiles sadly, and reaches out to squeeze Ale’s hand. “let me give you strength before you leave.” 

for the rest of dinner, they sit quietly and Valentina cracks a few laughs, but otherwise, everything seems normal. Ale tries to breathe easy; if everything goes right, she’ll be back soon. “tell me again how you met dad.” 

Valentina smiles, and bellows, “Cornelius,” with such fondness that it silences the restaurant. “he’s a good looking man, you know, it didn’t take much!” 

“who introduced you?” Ale asks. maybe if she gets all the facts, she won’t forget her family again. maybe she can make something work. they don’t tell the story often enough for her to know it by heart like some of her peers know their parents’ stories. she knows the basics, at least, but nothing particular. 

“he found a book of places in the library- the public library, they are not so common now- near his house in London, and Montignoso was marked. you know the babbano village on the coast; my mama found him wandering, asking for help. not for money or food, just help. he was running from tu-sai-chi, of course, it was right after that battle in the Ministry. mama figured it out and brought him home with her, and asked me to help him with his Italiana. he spoke so softly, and that intrigued me. you know that. i suppose that was it for me,” she finishes with a soft smile. comforted by the story, she smiles and grips her mother’s hand. “who will be there when you arrive?” Valentina suddenly asks.

Ale’s stomach drops out. of course, she can’t have a minute of contentment before being reminded of how messed up everything is. “the boys, Lewis and Thaddeus.” 

“no one in your dorm?” 

“no,” she frowns, “Cecily and them are impossible to replace.” and still, Thaddeus was a reminder of Gio’s existence. where did he end up in this timeline? did he still wait for her in the Ministry? though, it won’t matter soon, will it?

“they’ll be here when you come home, Alessandra.” 

Ale breathes, or rather, coughs and sobs and Valentina gets up to hurry around the table between them. there’s nothing, nothing in Merlin’s infinite timelines quite like a hug from Valentina Pagano; especially now. she asks if she shouldn’t go, but Valentina tells her she’ll always think of it, so she must make a decision for her own sanity. see the way time finds a way to resist meddling, or stay home. Ale knows she’s right, but it hurts as they apparate back to Hogsmeade and Valentina presses magic into the seams of Ale’s hands. it hurts as she watches her mother cry and can’t stop her own tears. 

despite all this, Ale goes. the time turner in her hand vanishes as soon as she arrives in the forties. 

the sun set before dinner began with Valentina, but in Tom Riddle’s time, summer break is only a few weeks away. the orange light guides Ale to the castle, where she finally falls against the gigantic doors and rubs the last evidence of her grief away from her eyes. 

there’s too many unanswered questions for her to leave this time behind. too much blood. 

“Alessandra?” she hears a gasp, and looks up to find that Lewis was patrolling when she slipped in. 

“oh, Lewis,” she sighs, rushing over to give him a hug; those do her a lot of good. she already misses her family and friends but just reminds herself that she can save so many lives by doing this. 

but instead of seeming happy to see her, Lewis grips her shoulders after a moment and leans back to frown at her. “what happened? didn’t you go back?” Ale did. “did it work? it’s been weeks!” it did. “then why-“ 

“Dumbledore knew more about me than i’ve ever told anyone outside my mother, and he left Tom in the Alps alone, so i came back, but my time turner disintegrated, so i’m stuck again,” she quickly explains, and then looks into the Great Hall because the doors are always cracked open. no one’s inside, despite the hour. “where is everyone?” 

“bloody hell,” Lewis mutters, turning away to rub at his face and sigh. “all students, except me and Ivory, are in their dorms. a girl has died, last i heard, but the body can’t be removed until at least sundown for some reason. the school might close.” 

Ale freezes, and all the blood drains from her face. “it was him, wasn’t it.” 

“not for us to say, even though i’m a legal adult. he came back three days after you left; took the Floo from a cave town, i reckon,” Lewis tells her. “Dumbledore told us you told him everything and couldn’t say goodbye.” 

“he read your minds, he’s a skilled Legilimens.” Lewis swears under his breath and starts walking her in the direction of the dungeons. “wait, where is Tom now?” 

“Tom?” Lewis asks, then shakes his head before Ale can defend herself for the familiarity. how different are Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort? Ale thinks they’re worlds apart, wants them to be, but they just aren’t. “he’s supposed to be in his dorm, especially being a prefect. what are you going to do?”

Ale chews at her lip, defensive; but really, what is she going to do? she never confirmed if he was already a murderer, but what if he’s no different? what does that say about him, and moreover, what does that say about Ale? “if he’s let out of Hogwarts again, we might never see him as Tom Riddle again. the school can’t close,” or at least that’s what looks best to her mind, which is reeling with nerves. Dumbledore’s portrait wasn’t entirely helpful in the narrative department, but there’s no doubt that Tom needs to be contained, if he killed someone. Dumbledore, the professor, must know that! “why isn’t Dumbledore doing anything? he knows!” 

“that would send you and him to Azkaban, you for time travel and him for reading mine and Thaddeus’ minds. they’d extract the memories from both of you,” Lewis points out in a whisper as they turn the corner closest to the Slytherin common room. “just go to sleep, and i’ll take you to the Ministry tomorrow for another time turner, Alessandra. just please,” he sighs, opening the secret entrance and nodding as a farewell, “be safe.” 

the dilemma of the moment is finding Tom and stopping him from killing anyone. after that, Ale can run in uncertain circles with herself about her relationship with him and find another way back home. booked for the night, Ale surveys the common room and finds his roommates in one corner. he isn’t with them. Margaret, however, is, and notices Ale almost immediately. 

“ciao, Alessandra! did you bring your brother?” she asks cheerfully, then stops with a sudden frown. “what happened?” 

“Margaret,” Ale sighs, because she just doesn’t have time to let herself feel guilty about leaving everything behind, “where is Tom Riddle?” the prefect only points to the dormitory stairs, so Ale rushes up them and down the hall, just to see Thaddeus being cornered by Tom himself. “stop!” she snaps, before she can even process the sight. 

“Alessandra?” the young wizard asks, relief clear in his expression, Tom spins on a heel, and his eyes are as red as they were on the staircase to Dippet’s office. “it didn’t work?” 

“if i return to the timeline i was born in, i’m responsible for everyone Lord Voldemort killed,” she answers simply, and takes a cautious step forward. Tom is shaking. “if i stop him now, i don’t think i’ll ever be born to do it.” she can’t tear her eyes from his. 

“live with the guilt, for Merlin’s sake, Alessandra, you can’t keep messing with the timeline,” Thaddeus tries, but it’s too late, even if he was to convince her. she has to pick one objective and just do it, at this point; if she half-asses anything at all, it could go wrong. not that there’s anything good about the idea that has been forming in her head since Tom put the silver band on her finger. his eyes are still red. 

“i told you, Tom, i told you everything,” she pants, taking another step towards him. Thaddeus frowns. “i told you what would happen, and you did it, all of it; you did it to my instruction.” 

“why?” Thaddeus cuts into her confession with a sword, eyes blazing, and runs at her to shove her back. “why would you do that? why would you just look at the little kid who would go on to kill millions, and then be so enamored with him that you leave everything you ever wanted behind, Alessandra! how could you leave us if it wasn’t worth anything?” 

“i can still do it,” Ale insists, tears springing to her eyes at Thaddeus’ betrayed expression. he looks disgusted. “i promise, Thaddeus, it’s going to be okay,” she tells him in Italian. he shakes his head and keeps glaring at her. “i can fix it all,” she whispers. “no one has to get hurt.” 

“but they do,” Tom murmurs. Ale breathes and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. 

“he’s right,” Thaddeus says, and steps forwards to hug her awkwardly. “Lewis will take you to the Ministry tomorrow, and you’ll go home. we’ll die trying to kill him,” the kid jerks his head towards the other wizard, who doesn’t react, “and life will be life. you can’t change your timeline without consequences.” 

Ale grits her teeth. she can’t accept that; she doesn’t care what happens to her anymore, but the people she cares about will never know pain like she has. they’ll never hear the name Voldemort if she has anything to say about it. she leans down to hug Thaddeus properly, pats his head, and then strides quickly over to Tom. “i need the bag, Tom, lead me to it.” 

“what are you going to do?” he asks, after closing his dormitory door on a shouting Thaddeus. Ale leans against a bedpost and sighs. “Alessandra, what are you going to do?” 

“shut up, alright?” she snarls in Italian, then sighs again. “just give me the bag and tell me why you killed Myrtle.” 

he does hand over the Mary Poppins bag- the name of which she remembered not to mention- but he doesn’t speak for a while. she digs through it, then pauses to narrow her eyes at him. she won’t let Lewis die like that. “Abraxas Malfoy provided a scroll which had written on it in various languages the directions to a specific location in the Alps. i had to learn those languages, because the scroll is sensitive to magic, and i had to study the context of the directions. i was never going to part ways with you and your brother, because i believed that in this location, i would have to sacrifice an innocent life for immortality. your suspicious background made it easier for me to want rid of you. 

“when Dumbledore took you, i continued to my original destination, knowing you’d be safe at Hogwarts instead of whatever the hell was happening to you on the mountain. when i arrived at the destination, it was a temple founded by various magical creatures who had the ability to see all but the world around them, cursed to never die. when they were young, they created horcruxes, the very answer i was after; as a group, they each killed their parents and divided their souls into an object. the horcruxes were scattered in the wind, never to be seen again, not even by these creatures. they told me how to make one, but they told me i’d never survive, just like you said. they told me i’d wish for death as soon as it was out of reach. 

“i asked them where you were, Alessandra, and they said they’ve been watching you since you arrived because of the great power that only some creatures can sense from you. they said my killing curses from the future were going to wind up killing you if you kept holding onto them, and that you likely killed everyone around you when you used the time turner to go home. i didn’t know what they meant, i didn’t understand, but they said you were gone. i remembered what you told me about my future, and trusted your strength, and i went into the Chamber of Secrets when the creatures sent me back here. you deserve a normal life, Alessandra, you know that, and you know the cost now, but it must be paid.” 

Ale looks down at the bag when he finishes speaking, and lifts the time turner she stole from the Ministry out of it. biting her lip, she sets the bag on the ground and opens the lid of the watch. 

“Il Razzo Pagano,” she reads aloud, and then gulps. “this isn’t the time turner i left you with, this is the time turner that brought me here.” 

“i gave it to the creatures,” Tom explains softly, still not moved from the door. “i thought it might help them find you, but they already knew who you were.” 

“you still haven’t answered my question, Tom,” Ale points out, choked off; she was always supposed to have this loop, from the time Gio got distracted in London. “why did you kill Myrtle?” 

“i didn’t.” 

this catches her more off-guard than anything. Tom Riddle killed Moaning Myrtle, that’s never been a question. Tom Riddle killed his family. Tom Riddle killed almost everyone he ever knew. Ale didn’t change that; it was the same when she was in her present, and Myrtle was dead before she returned to the forties. she hasn’t changed anything in the last hour or so, as far as she knows, unless Tom was supposed to immediately leave to kill someone else after Myrtle. 

“i am so far beyond believing your lies, Tom, i always have been.” 

“Slytherin’s monster, the basilisk, kills any living thing she makes eye contact with, so i wisely blindfolded myself and prepared to set her loose; i had a guest that i didn’t see, and when the basilisk told me of her victim, i locked her back in the chamber to regain control,” he articulates. “this is all true, Alessandra.” Ale puffs up her cheeks and stares at the engraving. “every word i’ve said to you today is true.” 

“no, Tom,” Ale laments, “you need to understand this; you killed her, you killed Myrtle, by opening the Chamber of Secrets.” Moaning Myrtle will moan, she can’t do anything about that anymore, but she’ll be damn sure Tom knows why. he’s too smart to have the ego that he does, and they both know it. “that was directly your doing.” Tom doesn’t say anything, just leans against the door with his head back. “come with me.” 

Ale hugs Thaddeus again. she hugs Margaret and the other girls, and then Lewis and Ivory, all with Tom hiding around the corner. they each ask why she’s saying goodbye, so she tells them all that she’s returning to Italy indefinitely. or rather, she says indefinitely, the girls don’t know what it means, and they all cry anyways. then Tom and Ale walk to the front hall with their belongings in tow and Tom stops her in a shallow alcove. a group of men walk past with a covered stretcher, Dumbledore behind them. 

“Myrtle,” he mutters to Ale, causing hair to fall across her face. she lifts her chin with a glare. “what would you have me do, Alessandra, if this is the reason you returned?” he whispers, close to a hiss, but his eyes are dull and his expression is neutral. 

“just keep going,” she huffs. they slip out of the school without incident, and this time, they won’t be returning. from Hogsmeade, they take the Floo to Diagon Alley, which is lively despite the late hour and day of the week. or Ale thinks it might be Thursday. she gets out the time turner in a broom closet in the Leaky Cauldron, then takes a deep breath. the plan that’s becoming clearer to her as the moments pass is going to be a rough one. “how many years away is ninety-seven?” she’s about four percent sure it was ninety-seven. 

“what’s there?” he’s just being difficult. “fifty.” she hands him the Mary Poppins bag. 

“i’ll be back in a few minutes, but based on what i know of time travel, you have to,” she shudders. she has to tell him to become Voldemort, even though when she returns, she can stop him. is she any better? 

the ends justify the means. 

“you’re in charge, for some reason, Alessandra, what,” Tom prompts. 

“you have to become Voldemort so i can come back to stop you. for this to work, i have to travel to a time that Voldemort exists. which means you have to become Voldemort.” it hurts, it physically hurts to say, and Tom sees it with a frown. he nods. 

“i opened the Chamber for you to live your best life, Alessandra; i’m Slytherin’s heir, i can make any situation benefit me.” 

“i’m not worried about how sad you’ll be killing millions, i’m worried about the millions who will die because i told you to.” 

“Alessandra, are you saying,” Tom lifts Ale’s hand and twists the band on her finger. “are you saying you’ve pretended to be enamored with me, in Wilkes’ words? that we share no mutual-” 

“i-” Ale coughs. there’s no time. this isn’t priority. “i have to go now. remember to kill lots of people and completely destroy my conscience while i’m gone!” when she arrives in the relative future, she promptly gets sick into a mop bucket, thankful for the location. she’d have gone further, but she doesn’t want to risk her own existence again. there’s a symbol burned into the door when she recovers and stands to leave. 

a clock, signed “for A.P.” 

Ale shudders again. 

Diagon Alley is entirely dead, but the Daily Prophet is still posting their stories in the box in front of their office. heart racing, she digs through the box before finding the divide between articles denying Voldemort’s return and reporting on the tragedy he was spreading. it’s too much, but the faster she gets a close date, the faster she can get back to Tom and prevent all the carnage. 

“that was quick, i thought i’d have to book a room,” he remarks while she empties the rest of the dinner she shared with Valentina into another bucket. “what happened?” 

“you did as i asked, is what happened, maledire,” Ale groans, closing her eyes. he takes the time turner. she can’t think about it too much. slippery slope. 

leads to the truth. she’s a villain. 

“Alessandra,” Tom continues, crouching to rest a hand against her waist, just like he did in the Alps. “it’s okay, i haven’t done anything.” 

“coglione,” Ale mutters. she’s an idiot, too, though. “let’s just get to july ninety-six.” she dry heaves when they arrive. “okay, we have to dog-ear Montignoso at the library down the street from my dad’s apartment in East Dulwich.” she ignores the look she gets for that and starts counting the remaining muggle money in the Mary Poppins bag. there’s only ten pounds left, which absolutely won’t fly in a modern cab, so she has Tom multiply the two five pound notes until they have enough for a few cab rides. “this is hardly legal, but i’ve already killed countless wizards, witches, muggles, and magical creatures, so what’s some laundering?” Ale is losing it. Tom doesn’t seem as scared as her, for some reason, just deep in thought. 

“Voldemort scared him out of the country before. what could we possibly do to scare him as much as everyone around him dying did?” 

“i have a plan,” Ale insists, even though she doesn’t. Tom brings up a good point. how would he be desperate enough to look up vacations in a library? scratch the original story. they have to be more direct. “disguise yourself as a travel agent, convince him to go to Montignoso, it’s a beautiful town. we make sure he goes, then we threaten him a bit when he arrives, and convince my nonna to take him in.” 

“he’s a wizard, Alessandra,” Tom argues, “why would he listen to a muggle travel agent? is this your grand plan to save the world from me?” Ale just gestures to the run down building her dad used to live in. a prostitute steps out, followed by a skinny man with a bulky gun tucked into his loose jeans. Tom doesn’t seem enthusiastic in the slightest; annoyed, even. still, he takes the prefect pin from his shirt and slips off his tie, handing both to Ale. she pops his collar for him, despite the wide eyes and offended gasp she receives for it. 

it really is the nineties, though. Ale waits around the corner until Tom finds her with a frown. 

“think it worked?” she asks. Merlin knows what he said. 

“yeah, he said his lease ran out yesterday and no one will hire him because he doesn’t have a diploma, let alone a degree. he looked like you, but,” he shakes his head in clear confusion. “i didn’t understand half the words he said, and he kept mentioning flight, but i was pretending to be a muggle, so i didn’t know what to do.” Ale snorts despite herself and leaves fifty pounds in Cornelius’ mailbox. 

Cornelius does buy a ticket- they follow him to the airport, laundering more and more money as they go- after dinner and a surprising trip to one of the libraries the same day. Tom slips in ahead of Cornelius to dog-ear Montignoso and hide behind a shelf. Ale passes punchy and passes out in their first class seats with curtains to hide her identity in case Cornelius walks by. 

when she wakes, the plane is relatively quiet, and Tom seems to have calmed down from the sheer terror he experienced upon takeoff. he’s leaning against their shared armrest, watching her blink awake. Ale reaches over to lift his left hand. “i’m tired,” she sighs. Tom lets out a sharp breath. 

“i’m not surprised, you’ve been all over time,” he points out and lifts their joined hands to kiss Ale’s knuckles. “i overheard someone say we’re landing soon. is it going to be as bad as the start?” 

“worse, in my experience, but we’ll be fine. pilots are highly educated, especially pilots entrusted with the lives of hundreds of passengers,” she stutters. Tom rests his plush lips on her knuckles again, but then doesn’t move for a moment. 

“what’s the objective of all this?” he suddenly asks against her skin, then replaces his lips with his teeth for a moment, lightly. “why come back for me, bring me with you, trust me this much? it’s messing with you, but the result must be worth it.”

“it’s not us running off into the sunset together,” Ale says, hands shaking as she pulls away. “i’m doing what’s right, is all.” 

“manipulating your-” a flight attendant opens the curtain to tell them they’ll be landing in a few minutes. this distracts Tom greatly, as the arrival to Genoa is loads rockier than Ale remembers, and they almost fall out of their seats. “bloody hell,” Tom breathes when they finally come to a stop. 

Ale’s grandmother is easy enough to find. she stands out as a witch among the muggles, but only to the trained eye. Tom looks between the generations with narrow eyes as they speak in rushed italian before Ale begins to sob. her nonna hugs her warmly, kisses her forehead, and kisses Tom’s cheekbones before he can protest. “mal comune, mezzo gaudio.” 

“i don’t know what that means,” he tells her distantly, turning to frown at Ale, but she only peeks at him between her fingers, head buried in her hands. Her nonna lifts Tom’s hand and pinches his ring finger, the one bearing his connection to Ale. 

“sostieni.” stay. he must understand that one. 

Cornelius wanders the streets, sipping water that a restaurant gifted him because he has no money. Ale runs up behind him and remembers the man who raised her. remembers his stories about strangers and not-parents and how much he loved her. remembers that his one shoulder has always been sensitive from when he broke his collarbone when he was fourteen and it didn’t heal right for some reason. he shouts, and she tells him to hide if he knows what’s good for him, voice low and foreign. her impression of Tom, because she feels like him now, as her father runs away and she slips onto a roof with him to get away from prying eyes. suddenly she isn’t her father’s daughter anymore, not her nonna’s passerotta. 

“you just threatened and manipulated your ancestors.” she doesn’t acknowledge it. Tom rests a hand on her back and squints into the noon sun. “you’ve erased me from history.” his voice shakes a bit, but Ale can hardly think about his emotions while she’s losing her own. she takes the time turner from him and sets it to the day she first left. 

Ale dry heaves again and shakes.

but she’s alive.

she’s still here.

“Tom,” she sobs, wiping at her face, but he takes the device again and starts furiously twisting it. hope starts to pool in her stomach, weaker than anything else but so starkly bright compared to how ruined the rest of her is. “Tom, we have to leave it where i found it, or i’ll never have gone to your time.” 

“i’m not staying, Alessandra, you can’t control me!” he yells suddenly, eyes blazing scarlet, before falling to his knees. a few muggles look up at them, but he hasn’t said anything incriminating. Ale knows that whatever he does, she’ll be able to stop him, but it’s going to hurt. “i lied to you.” 

“stop,” she rests her hands around his and gives him a pleading look. “stop, you don’t have to stay with me, just don’t go back there.” 

“i lied to you, i did kill Myrtle, and i made my ring a horcrux, i thought i had to.” 

“i don’t care!” Ale suddenly tells him, quieter but no less purposeful. did her nonna know? “i am a worse person than you, now, Tom, so i don’t care what you do, what you did!” his expression softens, but he tips his chin down so he’s bathed in shadow. 

“it’s not a competition.” 

“you know that if you become Voldemort, you’ll die. we both know you will die, Tom. right now, where we stand, i don’t know what the world is like anymore, but Tom Riddle disappeared years ago and never returned to commit mass genocide. you are as good a person as you’ll ever be, right now; you have the world in your hands!” 

Ale thought she’d end up harboring a murderer if she brought Tom back with her. she was afraid of him. now? 

“is that what you want, Alessandra? for me to be a good person?” 

“i want people to live, and i want you and me to live,” she answers. “it’s costing me my sanity, Tom, but i need it.” they’re quiet for a few moments while Tom looks down at the time turner. 

“i don’t,” he finally says, and Ale’s throat seizes up. her pulse hammers. she doesn’t blink. “come with me to face the Desiderii, the creatures.” all she can do is nod. what else is there? he was cooperating until now. she could never kill him, though. just keep him. from that moment in the Leaky, she knows, it was always going to be her responsibility. “when did you find this?” 

“tomorrow morning,” she tells him. she didn’t want to risk missing it. “in London.” 

“we’ll have to apparate, then.” Ale’s stomach drops, even though she already knew that. Tom puts the time turner in his pocket and holds out his left hand. 

suddenly Ale is cold again. the wind and snow bite at them both, but she has to stop him from casting anything on her. too cold to argue, he just frowns and ushers her towards a cave. they’re in the mountains again, but this time, despite her state of dress, Ale feels more ready. she knows more. maybe she can get it all to work out. Tom leads her through a maze of tunnels before stopping in front of a menacing dragon sculpture.

“don’t bother,” comes a murmur from the mouth of the dragon, though it doesn’t move. Tom, who had begun to raise his wand, freezes. “she can open the door on her own.” he looks to Ale with wide eyes and gestures weakly to the statue. when she steps closer, there is indeed an ancient door carved into the stone. Tom was probably the last visitor, from the look of it, as well as the first in a long time. it falls open when she nudges it. 

“this whole place is cursed to not allow any non-magical being in, but magical beings can’t pass through this door without using magic,” Tom tells her quietly, coming up behind her. “they said you were powerful.” Ale just looks down shamefully. 

“you said yourself, i’m a squib.” 

“come in,” says the voice from before, and she looks back up to find three disfigured but humanoid creatures. her eyes can’t quite focus on them, but she can tell that they’re there. “your travels have taken a toll on both of you.” 

no shit, Ale thinks to herself. “what is she?” Tom asks. 

“she was born resistant to magic, but somehow developed the ability to hold it by will, something never seen before.” 

the same voice speaks, but from a different place in the room. “some are born resistant, some are born with the innate ability, some without, and some are born able to hold spells but not create them.” 

“no one in history has changed like you, Alessandra Pagano; your will is stronger than any other’s.” 

doesn’t feel like it now. “we know how damaged your conscience is.” 

“it’s because of me,” Tom tells them, but a no echoes from nowhere in particular. he still thinks he’s the bad guy she’s saving everyone from?

“i chose not to settle for what i knew, and i would have forced you if you didn’t cooperate.” the creatures agree with Ale, to his surprise. “i have nowhere to go now, Tom, it’s just us.” 

“what about your family?” he wonders. “surely you had friends.” 

“i can’t face them with so much blood on my hands. when i left from the ministry, and came back so quickly, you had killed in my name. when i left because of Dumbledore, you killed in my name. when i left from the leaky cauldron, you killed in my name. but you, as you stand now, did none of that. it’s all in my history and not yours; i did that intending to save people, but it doesn’t matter; i killed all of them, too.” 

“we can’t take this power from you, nor those memories,” the creatures tell her. 

“what am i to do?” Tom demands of them. “i’m immortal now, i have Alessandra by my side, and what, we run off? stay together? i can’t.” 

“give her the horcrux, and she’ll tell you, because you cannot disobey her anymore.” 

something about that makes Ale feel worse than all the murder did. maybe just because it’s personal. “you didn’t want to in the first place. we saw it happen.” she looks over at him and his eyes are a searing red. “you’re made soulmates, meant for others but forced together by both of your powers.” 

“have you cursed us?” 

“we don’t have to. Voldemort is dead.” 

“so i ruined everything?” Ale asks, throat suddenly tight. “he can’t make any decisions, i’ve lost my family, and we can’t separate?” 

“this is what you’ve both chosen.” 

“i would never,” Tom seethes. “submission is not an option, i am Lord Voldemort, heir of Slytherin.” 

“Voldemort is dead.” the voices are beginning to sound as impatient as Tom and Ale. 

“who am i, then?” he shouts at them, throwing his hands in the air; they don’t answer. 

“i don’t think there’s anything we can do, now, Tom,” she whispers. it was his suggestion to come, but he was also the one who said he ran to them crying, begging for her return. Ale’s eyes are hardly dry from seeing her nonna. she still can’t believe they pulled that off, but things are still precarious for him. Tom’s eyes glow like iron, expression tight. “you said they see everything.” 

“i can’t be the son of a muggle, Alessandra,” he nearly growls, hissing her name almost like his older self did in the forbidden forest. Ale shivers. “i can’t keep this name.” 

“you don’t have to.” 

they both take interest in the creatures again. 

“identity is often defined by personal choices; there are some things you can not control, some things you can.” Tom sneers and turns to the door. Ale agrees with them, but that doesn’t make any of this fun. to say the least, she isn’t looking forward to keeping the ring on her finger forever, but she needs and wants to, nonetheless. now these supposedly omniscient creatures are suggesting the same thing. run away, change their names, stay together. Tom mutters something under his breath and grabs Ale’s left hand, pulling off her ring. 

“give me this,” he snarls, “it’s stupid.” Ale lets him remove her ring, chest tight, but grips his hand so he can’t pull away when he’s done. “Alessandra,” he warns, “i don’t need magic to kill you.” they both know he doesn’t mean it. but her heart is in her throat, and she holds on. “Alessandra.” his voice weakens, “i can’t.” it’s a lie. he can do whatever the hell he wants- she’s from a world that he destroyed, but now they’re both in the world that she destroyed. there’s nothing for her and everything for him, the last thing she expected but the very thing she saw coming. he tugs again, and she stumbles forward, losing her grip and finding a new one on his shoulder. he looks down at his hands between them. Ale considers, staring at the rings as well, Tom’s words. he doesn’t need magic to kill her. he already has, a million times over. and he never will. still, he leans in and rests his forehead against hers, and whispers, “avada kedavra.” he doesn’t mean it, just says the words. “for when the day comes,” he murmurs, and kisses her. 

Ale chokes not a moment later, not because Tom Riddle just told her to kill him, and not because of his lips, but because they’re in London. he drops the time turner while holding her up, and guides her down the street, arm around her waist.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! sorry if you cried or felt like you lost your mind alongside ale. i may have.


End file.
